Community Entry: The beginning of 2 years in my village

11-21-12


“He who has health, has hope; and he who has hope, has everything. - ”Thomas Carlyle



So with pre training, swear in, and testing all completed and out of the way, I had apparently blossomed into a skilled and capable volunteer ready to tackle village life in the bush and put what I've learned over the past 3 months to the test. Our graduating intake, so to speak, had been treated to a few enjoyable accommodations and celebrated in a semi decent lodge in the capital where we all partook in the enjoyable company of one another through a series of evenings where we danced the night away, boozed and swam (a very rare treat in a land locked African country). It had been a nice conclusion to a grueling training session and we were all highly anticipating the next step.


What was in store was a 3 month period where we would be posted at our assigned village and be expected to engage in greeting, meeting and assimilating into our community. We were expected to make a community map of our respected 20 km area that included importnt landmarks. We were to interview farmers and community members about the seasonal changes, eat dinner with village head members, explore, find a language tutor, and generally try to gain the respect and admiration by getting involved in village life. I had been one of the more fortunate members of my intake in that I knew much more about my community then others and somewhat knew beforehand what I was walking into since I had already been there a few times previously. After 3 frantic days of shopping and attempting to purchase all the food and supplies that I would be needing to survive for the next 3 months, my cruiser ride was loaded and I took the first step forth to begin my stay in my new home; the village of Kalichero.


I had been lucky enough to be a second generation volunteer, meaning that I was to take over a site that was occupied previously by another volunteer, which I would find, would have its costs and rewards. I was replacing a couple who had been quite the model volunteers and even did well in inspiring me in how to perform my duties in a successful manner. They had several side projects aside from a few dozen fish pond projects including a turkey breeding project, a chicken broiler room and a number of other aids related projects and teaching at the local school. It was very clear that I would have large shoes to fill and even though the previous volunteer before me was an animal science major and had comprehensive knowledge in raising livestock and I didn't, I was determined not to let that hold me back and learn through experience.


So I jumped right in. I worked at trying to make my presence known and communicate clearly why and what I was doing in the village. The easy part was informing everyone that I was chuck's replacement and that I would be doing similar work. Since his stay had been a successful one, and everyone knew him and approved of his previous projects, most made the connection right away and had understood what my future endeavors would revolve around. I attended 2 village meetings with-in the first week and had some speeches where I made it clear on some of the things I wanted to get started on and accomplish during my stay. I was willing to work with farmers on an individual level by going out to their farm and assessing their site by giving a personalized and technical recommendation on weather they had an appropriate spot for a fish pond. Most of them did. I would stake and draw out pond plans, and tell them the first and most basic techniques into how to start developing their pond. I would then return in a weeks time and see if they had executed any of my advice. If they hadn't started, I knew they wouldn't be ideal clients to work with, but If they had started I could deem them motivated and worthy of earning my time and knowledge about improving their lives through fish farming.


Within the first month and a half I had recorded and staked out about 16 ponds at individual farmers sites and had seen about six ponds actually get dug out. When you factor in certain circumstances like the fact that fish farming in the Eastern province is not really seen as a serious money making venture due to water constraints, and the fact that farmers are mostly concerned with growing crops as a means for income and food, It had been a pretty fair accomplishment that I had fostered the amount of interest I had. With the help of my counterpart, and my semi competent language skills, farmers had been a real pleasure to work with and it was always and adventure in hiking out to these rural farms tucked away sometimes 4 or 5 KM into the African bush to help them plan out a future fish pond. I felt a warm sense of gratitude and thankfulness whenever I completed a pond stake or physically went to each of these farmers sites and I usually went home with a plethora of exotic fruits and vegetables that were being grown on their farm that they had insisted I take before I left.


As for my house, or should I say, mud hut, it had needed quite the amount of shaping up to meet my living standards. As I had mentioned earlier, a second generation inheritance has its costs and rewards. I had been rewarded with quite the extensive amount of kitchen ware, a bed frame, bookshelf, furniture and even an easy-shade that, despite its deteriorating condition and constant need for repair, had been a savior in a climate that had just as much sun as a erred California desert. It was nice not having to blow my entire community entry income allowance on everything one would need in starting to build a home from scratch. So really I needed only to fill in the gaps, but the gaps had proven to be a little wider then what I had anticipated.


The first week I spent every hour of daylight and even a fair amount of evenings (until a few candles would burn out) waxing floors, painting walls, nailing white cloth to the ceiling and ousting insects and critters that had discretely moved into the hut in the brief period of its vacancy in between Chuck (the previous volunteer) and myself. My hut was about 10'x20' with a small walk in living room that lead to a bedroom that was just large enough to squeeze in a double bed. There were a few windows and a bookshelf left behind by the previous volunteer for a slight feel of organization. My kitchen was a separate entity from my hut, a small insaka (gazebo) enclosed with a few tables, some bush chairs, with a homey and unique women's touch completed by African paintings and handy shelving. All in all, I was very satisfied with my new home. Yet, I had my complaints which I swallowed and seeked to remedy on my own affront. The walls on both my insaka and hut were deteriorating at a exponential pace. Living in a mud hut has its set backs. One; the dust layers that accumulate overnight are very difficult to compete with. A daily routine that I had found completely necessary was to sweep and dust, sometimes more then once to avoid the feeling that you were living in a mad max movie. Two; bugs seemed to be drawn and attracted to my hut much more then what I was accustomed to and it was a constant battle to squash, shew and kill all the friendly and not so friendly organisms that found their way into my home from wasps to giant ants to scorpion spiders and gigantic beetles. Termites also seemed to have their way with slowly doing quite the number to the wood support beams that held up my thatch roof. It wasn't uncommon to be sitting in a chair to feel the light sprinkle of sawdust rain over your head has a hungry termite gnawed away the ceiling beams overhead. But despite some of these setbacks, one can't ignore the fact that I had no rent to meet monthly, no water bill, no car payment, no utilities and virtually no bills other then food. It was a trade off that I was more then willing to bear and It humored me every morning to know that while I was here tending to all theses mundane house issues, my friends and family back in the states were fretting over the reality of trying to scrounge up enough money on a monthly basis to avoid getting thrown out on the streets. And it still does.


As the weeks would pass, I began getting a better and better feel for my village. I was becoming skilled at the art of hauling 40 liters of water from a boar hole that was 2 KM away to my hut by meticulously balancing them on my bicycle. I learned the names and approximate perimeter of my village and all the surrounding ones. I was giving and receiving gifts from neighbors community members and farmers on a constant basis and often ate supper with my counterpart and other new acquaintances within my villages. I was finding that I was beginning to be welcomed quite well and warmly. I attended a very long funeral, a very entertaining wedding and experienced many firsts including goat meat, rat meat, pigeon meat and various village brews, some tastier then others. It was quite the change of pace from my PST lifestyle and I was doing my best to embrace my new way of life while enjoying the new relationships I was fostering and people I was getting to know.


On a typical day, I would awaken around 6 to find a village up and about that had already started their day hours before my awakening. I'd light my charcoal brazier and then venture to the boar hole to draw water. After returning and finishing breakfast I'd review my daily schedule that I would have completely planned out on my own accord which would typically either be a venture to a few farmer's farms to stake ponds, or have my day revolve around house projects from trying to build compost bins, a pull up bar, a fence surrounding my hut and insaka and plans for an organic garden and general maintenance and upkeep around the hut. Depending on my appetite and agenda I'd sometimes prepare lunch and exhaust the remainder of the day with home improvement projects, sometimes good novels and always finish with a pasta or rice dish for dinner. The day always ended shortly after the sun would set and the village practically shut down to complete silence within an hour of darkness mostly due to the lack of electricity.


Having diagnosed many of the problems and challenges that my village was facing, I focused on a few reasonable practices that I felt would solve some of the problems people were facing on a basic grassroots level. I saw it within many peoples best interest to focus on organic farming and composting as a secondary project to fish farming. More then 95% of the income that people gained in my villages came from farming. It was a community comprised primarily of peasant farmers and all of them were dependent on expensive fertilizers that most couldn't afford and that would deplete the integrity of soil in the long run. With a village that had all the materials one would need for composting including manure that was available in massive quantities everywhere thanks to roaming livestock, it seemed like a no brainier to me. The soil in Africa is nutrient depleted and completely infertile, but with proper practice of composting, it seemed like many of their growing expenses could be minimized and the quality of the soil greatly improved over time. So in an attempt to lead by example, I started to build two large compost bins out of bush materials and proceeded to gather and compost materials on a daily basis mostly through enjoyable hikes deep into the African bush. Currently I have enough compost rotting to condition about half of my garden's soil, which I will do at the start of rain season in January. My goal is to have a thriving organic garden by February that I can use as a model and hard evidence that proves that all this material and manure gathering that I've been doing in the past few months is not just odd behavior by the new white guy in the village. With the way my compost is currently breaking down and developing, I have much confidence in meeting my goal and it seems that more and more of my community is getting increasingly interested and curious towards what I'm doing, which is working out perfectly according to my grand master plan.


Other plans that I have been developing is the introduction of sweet potatoes into my community, a rabbit breeding project and a teaching position at the local school. One of the beautiful things about peace corps is the freedom a volunteer has to do what they feel is most needed in their village despite what program they are trained and assigned to. Though I'm a fish farmer I can only do it on a seasonal level and plan supporting my community through other means as mentioned. Employment freedom is a dream come true and not having a boss looking over your shoulder constantly is one of my favorite things about this job.


With half of my community entry complete I can hardly wait to be let off the leash completely so I can visit other volunteers and explore the rest of what this majestic county has to offer. I thoroughly enjoy my village, the people within it, and all the work that I do. I can easily claim that this IS the best job I have ever had and though I encounter hardships often (like you'll soon read about in the next blog), I would always take a bad day here over a bad day in the states. With all the accomplishments I have made thus far into my service, I greatly anticipate further success and progress into many aspects of community development. I have reasonable and obtainable goals and visions on where I want to be by the time community entry ends, and where I want to be within a years time and by maintaining my determination and motivation I have confidence that good things lie ahead. This thanksgiving, I'm more thankful for who I am, what I'm doing, and this amazing opportunity that has been bestowed on me that to this day still makes me smile as I wake up everyday and remind myself that I'm in Africa..

And then the training wheels came off..

“I would rather not know how to write and have something to say than know how to write and have nothing to say.”
-Enrique Tessieri


I'm convinced that there has been some sort of space time continuum that has tampered with my grasp of time. Its been 3 months since I've been in country, yet it feels like nothing shorter then a year. I can hardly remember routines and tendencies that I use to practice back in the states, and visions and memories of places and things I use to do are fading fast because my brain has been crammed with an unfeasible amount of information. Life changed so much upon my leaving of the states and arriving here in Zambia. Then came PST which entailed a whole new mode of getting use to, and now PST has ended and once more we must adjust to a new lifestyle...Bush living. Its amazing how much I've been through and learned in 2 months that its no wonder I'm starting to forget things from San Diego. Upon arrival, I've learned a language, learned the odds and ends of aquaculture, and even the culture of a country I knew so little about. But after all I've been through; the training, people and culture. The time has finally arrived to do what I've come to do. Help people.


The conclusion of PST was stressful, very comparable to a finals week in college but even more chaotic. There was sleepless nights when all I would do is study until I couldn't keep my eyes open. There was logistical mishaps, nervous breakdowns, yet pride and accomplishments as I came to realize that I had passed all of my exams and quotas. I had aced my aquaculture exam and finished with one of the highest scores. Language on the other hand was much more difficult for me to naturally grasp and though I didn't score poorly at all, I didn't obtain the grade I was aiming for. But a passing grade is a passing grade and with a deep breath and a forceful smile, I let it go and solaced myself with the idea that it will only improve with my immersion within my village where it will be practiced on a day to day basis with students in classrooms and farmers in the field. I have the motivation to have it mastered before I leave this country. And learning is all about attitude.


Our graduation day was entitled 'Cultural day'. A day when we would celebrate the conclusion of PST in Chongwe, say goodbye to our host families, entertain them with amusing presentations and prepare food. Though it was a time of celebration and commencement, it was also difficult for many to pack their bags and move out and away from the families that most of us had become so attached to during our 11 week accommodation. I lead the charge for the food preparation and organized spaghetti with 4 different sauces (meat, blush, Alfredo and vegetarian), macaroni and cheese, garlic bread and root-beer floats for desert, all for 120 people. Though I was the ringleader and organizer of the event I couldn't of had a better team that worked together so well and in such harmony. The food all came out amazingly and I earned a bit of street credit with the PST staff, the host families and my fellow volunteers in the process. The day was a huge success, though my groups presentation, (and my effort specifically) which was a singing and dancing performance (mostly improvised and in my opinion mediocre yet humorous) needed more rehearsal (the majority of my time and priorities were with cooking and studying for exams.)


It was emotional saying good bye for the last time to the family that had so gracious invited us into their home. I appreciated everything that my father and mother did for me; preparing food, preparing baths, cleaning and helping me with my language, that it would have been cold not to have gotten worked up and glossy eyed in saying farewell. But with that emotional goodbye, there was also the amazing feeling of accomplishment and a bright future on the horizon. We were all about to embark on something great.


Our final item of business was a more official swearing in ceremony at the Ambassador's house in Lusaka. The main event so to speak, where all the big wigs and higher ups of Peace Corps and Washington would attend and witness our oath of allegiance and commitment to serve as official volunteers for the United States in Zambia. I had heard it was a big deal. But when we arrived at the Ambassadors house and saw the high quality luxury that was being presented to us (golden tea spoons, fancy tea, REAL COFFEE), I realized that the tie I was wearing wasn't going to make me feel over dressed at all. The event was televised live on TV and many higher ups were in attendance, including the ambassador (his boss was Hilary Clinton). After numerous speeches and more then several words of wisdom, we all held up our right hand and went through the motions of promising to abide, defend, educate and serve in our 2 year service. We received certificates, shook hands with the ambassador and officially were converted from trainees to volunteers. A big deal and it felt good to make it to the other side. I was getting very tired of being called trainee.


The next few days went from cumbersome nicely dressed events to all out pool parties and celebrations at the great east motel where we all got to eat hotel food, swim in pools, intoxicate ourselves and enjoy the last few days we would have together for 3 months until IST (in service training). It was a good time and we all bonded with stories of PST, what we wanted to do with our service, and nights on the town where we would dance and laugh until the early hours of the morning. Though I really could have gone without the bed bugs. No fun.


After 2 days, we a packed our things again and headed out to our provincial houses where we were to shop and prepare for our community entry. A time when we would move into our community and meet people, explore and survey land to where we could and couldn't build fish ponds. It was a stressful few days of winging purchases and buying all items we'd need for the next 3 months.


I'm typing to you now currently indulging on the eve of my posting day with internet, running water and showers all at my disposal for one last evening. Tomorrow I gather everything I have bought in the past few days and all I own and head to my village where I will be left to fend for myself and relinquish the hand holding privileged that PC have spoiled me with up to this point. Its been an amazing journey to this point, and to think that it hasn't even really begun yet is mind boggling. This will be the last Blog that I will most likely be capable of posting for the next few months as there is no internet connection in the bust. I will be meeting chiefs, turning my hut into a home, meeting my community and finding my feet in a new life. It will be so exciiting to experience all the challenges, struggles, joys and accomplishments that are soon to come as well as the friends and relationships that I will soon develop. A new life lies ahead and I think I'm as ready as I'll ever be...

The REAL Lusaka

"I open my eyes, each morning I rise, to find the truth I, know that its there..." - SOJA



The truth. Only obtainable by first hand experience. We are told one thing only to find another. Yet that is the jest of life. Experiencing things for yourself and drawing your own conclusions is how we become who we are. We use recommendations as a guide and opinions as direction. Yet ultimately, the only pure truth to be found is with our own two eyes. Upon coming to country I had believed a lot of myths to be truth and found that I had a very uneven, inaccurate view; I thought wild animals roamed freely, I thought everyone was going to be miserable because they were poor, I thought everyone who had aids would be miserable, and I thought people were going to despise us because we were Americans. But the truth eventually cleansed my ignorance. The same goes for a little trip to the capital of Zambia, which is what this blog's topic is about...


To prevent us Trainees from going completely insane due to a cumbersome language and tech schedule, the staff believed it to be in their, and our best interest to treat us to an occasional day in the capital where we could eat pizza, ice cream, shop and use the precious internet. Once every few weeks we'd board a bus, travel one hour to the safe part of Lusaka called Manda Hill and Arcade. Here we found stores, shops and bars that had a rich upper class feel similar to what could be found in America. Manda Hill was a huge outdoor/indoor mall with a striking resemblance to most other malls we'd find in America. Clean floors, vaulted ceilings, restaurants, sporting good stores, fashion outlets. Everything we could possibly need was realistically there. We were so desperate for life outside of Chongwe that we never questioned how big Lusaka was, what the other areas of Lusaka were like, and if there was any place that sold cheaper booze... until we met Hunter.


Standing about 6 feet tall, with scruffy black hair, a rather lanky build was our street smart, city savvy leader. Hunter was near his last few days in country as a P.C. volunteer, so he had experience. He had been a mediocre fish farming instructor(though very knowledgeable just lacking teaching skills and motivation) yet amounted to being a wonderful guide in showing us the real side of Lusaka, which was constantly being eclipsed by PC staff. We had become close with hunter through humorous interactions and also an addictive board game we played constantly called settlers or captain. After being in his company for a few weeks he made it clear that me and a few others were among his favorites and he decided to give us a few tips the next time we had the opportunity to venture to Lusaka.


So the day finally came and we all arrived at the rich, fancy Manda Hill shopping mall like always with hours to kill. But this time we were making a break for it. We exited the parking lot and began to venture down the road toward the heart of Lusaka to a market called Kamwala, but better known to other volunteers as "the dirty market". Here one could buy alcohol in virtually any shape or form from various countries around the world; 8% red horse beer from the Philippians, Turbo King beer from the Congo, Jack Daniels, Captain Morgan, Johnny Walker are only to name a few. Cheaper Chitenges (basically thin cloth materials worn by all Zambian women that have a million uses), fireworks, soccer cleats, soccer jerseys, belts, wallets and sunglasses as well as male enhancement and clothing all for a fraction of the price you'd pay for the same stuff at Manda Hill.


We hitchhiked via an over crowded mini bus with stickers of Jesus, the virgin Mary, John Cena and the Undertaker all over the dash and windows to the heart of the capital where things were quite different from where we originally were quarantined which soon became apparent that it was the tourist side of the city. Where we were now was a vast deviation from our usual norm. It was chaos the minute we stepped off the bus. The streets were over crowded, there were small shops tucked away in every nook and crevice, and people were selling goods on blankets in the streets from vegetables to dress shoes. Thousands of people were out and about with limited walking space all trying to go their separate ways in a frenzy of sales, price haggles, arguments and taunts. It was overwhelming and hectic, yet the experience made me feel alive and satisfied. We walked through a hoard of soccer fans blowing horns, people constantly selling and bombarding us with cheap goods (as we were white and to them, obviously rich), and occasionally from time to time, we would hear spy accusations. It was dangerous and thrilling, mesmerizing and inspiring to take in all the stimuli that was before us. Much more of what I had envisioned markets to look like as opposed to where we had come from. It was the real Lusaka.


We marched in a single file line keeping close to one another to be on alert for pick pockets and thieves a few Kilometers to our destination. When we arrived we found stands made out off sticks. Uneven, soggy, rocky terrain, and dozens of shops with all sorts of liquor and beer crates outside of them. After getting a break down of how to go about buying and finding the best deal for what we were looking for the bargaining began. We bounced from shop to shop deploying a variety of tactics that entailed sweet talk, coaxing, and begging with the little Nyanja we knew. It was both a mission for cheap liquor and a Language lesson in shopping. A very entertaining and competitive game of trying to get a better deal then your buddy would and the more we ventured to the market, the better we got at it.


When it was all said and done, I had walked away with two bottles of rum that were less then half the price at manda hill, a pair of soccer cleats for 15.00 USD(adidas) and sunglasses that worked out to 1.50 USD. It felt good to be able to score goods at prices that were much more affordable. Upon arriving back at Manda Hill we told others and from there on out every time we made our way to Lusaka, Kamwala market was in the game plan. It was a very educational experience that taught me the lesson of going out and being adventurous on your own accord (well with a few others for saftey). We had a decent tour of much of the city, experienced our first taste of public transportation and now had a much better, and affordable means of obtaining alcohol and other goods. Though the end result was technically to obtain cheap booze, getting there and experiencing the true side of Lusaka was the ultimate prize to be had. It was a big Varsity step in the grand scheme of Volunteering in Zambia and gave me an adventure seeking mentality that I will deploy as I venture out on other expeditions throughout my journey while here.

Pre Service Training

"If you give a man a fish, he will have a single meal. If you teach him how to fish, he will eat all his life." - Kuan Tzu


Learning takes practice, wisdom takes experience. You can sit in a classroom, listen to lectures, take notes, or read exorbitant amounts of literature, but without the tangible, practical experience of a real life scenario you will never fully grasp what it means to 'know' your subject matter (for most practical subjects). Since being in Peace Corps, I can confidently say that I have learned more in the few months of being here then I have during years of schooling. 'Ethnography' is the practice of researching a subject by emerging yourself within it. As a Peace Corps volunteer, we embody this style of research and for me it has proven to be the most effective style of learning that one can expose themselves to on so many levels. It has been nearly 2 months since being in country and when I look back on all that I have learned I amaze myself and wonder how.


Pre Service Training entails 11 weeks of intense language lessons, technical training in fish farming and cross cultural studies for RAP volunteers like myself. Most of us had little to no direct experience or knowledge in any of these subjects before coming to Zambia. In fact, the vast majority of us hadn't even been to Africa. Prior to training, we had to forfeit our independence and accept being on someone else's schedule. For those of us who didn't particularly enjoy being in school, it was a grueling, tedious and repetitive 11 weeks. But for those of us who did't mind being in a learning atmosphere, it was an opportunity to gain more knowledge then we ever thought possible within such a brief amount of time.


For Language, I was assigned Nyanja with 3 other gentlemen as we were all to be posted near one another in the eastern province where Nyanja was the dominant language. Zambia has over 70 languages and we (all of the PCV's) were being taught 7 of the most common depending on where we were assigned to post. Nyanja happened to be one of the most widely spoken languages in country (also spoken in Angola, Mozambique, Malawi and Zimbabwe) . Our language lessons typically began in the morning; Monday through Saturday, for 4 hours. We'd meet at our instructors house at 8 a.m. via bike. In getting there, we had to navigate through a maze of elaborate shanty huts and unmarked neighborhoods. Using our instincts and making note of unusual mile markers( like when you see the clothesline attached to the broken down pick up turn left), we eventually developed an effective and scenically rich route, we were way out of our American element, but commuting was a much more exciting experience as opposed to sitting in traffic on the 15 South every morning. Screaming eways (small children) were our morning radio as they would run along side us screaming repeatedly ("How are you, how are you?") desperate to get some kind of response. We rode down rugged dirt trails and through neighborhoods with huts the size of American walk in closets, yet the locals would always smile and greet us as we ventured to our language lesson.


Our Instructors name was Charles a Zambian native coming from the Eastern Province. He was a characteristically rich gentlemen with a great sense of humor and effective teaching style. He embodied everything you'd want in a language instructor; patience, comedy, yet structure and encouragement. He didn't compulsively control where our conversations would stray even if they ventured into inappropriate 'man talk'. His motto was for us to 'be free' because he believed the more he forbid and regulated, the more there would be resistance and resentment. He always stressed that in a learning atmosphere the teacher is not the only one teaching, and he always asked us questions and was eager to learn more about us and our culture as he himself had never visited America. Charles was wise far beyond his years, and because we didn't abuse his leniency and because we were still determined to take learning Nyanja serious, we found an ideal combination of drive, entertainment and effective learning in every session we had together. We had a great relationship and all bonded well.


My two Nyanja counterparts and partners in crime were Tony from L.A., and Tom from Chicago, and they were great peers. We all seemed to share a similar sense of humor and looked out for each other with a sense of comradely that grew as the training progressed. They had both studied a language prior to Nynaja, and were much better at understanding the dynamics that went into learning a second language. I on the other hand, was pretty much in the dark as to how to best go about studying a second language. Their pace encouraged me to pick up mine, and with the determination in not wanting to fall behind or become the obvious weak link in the chain, I studied long hours at night in attempt to make up for my lack of linguistical talent and did pretty well in catching up to them.


In a typical day we would return from home-stays after language for lunch, then bike (about 8 km) to our technical class for fish farming studies. Here we learned everything from biology, anatomy, botany, integrated agriculture, horticulture and aquaculture. Some sessions entailed technical lectures, while most involved hands on training and field trips to local fisheries or fish ponds. We learned how to create plankton blooms, how to handle fish, spawning cycles, genetics, troubleshooting unproductive fish ponds and how to integrate aquaculture with other relevant ecosystems. Some of my favorite classes involved building structures with our hands from raw materials and the construction of appropriate technologies. One of my favorite sessions was where we constructed a chicken coup with reeds and bark from a near by pond. It brought me back to my childhood when I use to construct forts out of sheets and chairs and anything else I could find around the house, only now I was doing it for a meaningful purpose other then to keep my sisters out.


On Tuesdays our class would participate in cross culture sessions. A rather long day where we'd listened to lectures and experiences of our Zambian staff members regarding their culture and then compare them to our own. For some, these days were dreaded, and I'll admit, on certain sessions much of the material wasn't very necessary, but as a government organization, PC had legal obligation to be redundant and through. Some topics were appealing and interesting like; how Zambians go about marriage and dating, funeral and ceremonial burials, and headmen and chief edict. Then there were those topics that were a bit difficult to sit through without taking a few bathroom breaks like; sexual asphalts, and stress coping mechanisms. We also learned a lot about diseases and medical disorders which were both interesting and somewhat stressful( in that it reminded us that Africa was quite the dangerous continent). We had several sessions on HIV/AIDS and Malaria as these two diseases were very ubiquitous and responsible for the high mortality rate throughout the country. Another tragic stat for Zambia is that it is among the top few countries with the highest concentration of HIV/AIDS in the entire world, and a big part of PC's funding is from an organization called PEPFAR (an AIDS relief organization). Much of our assignment entails raising awareness and integrating AIDS and malaria prevention into our communities and to encourage families and individuals to get tested on a regular basis. I have gained so much knowledge regarding AIDS and Malaria since coming to country. I feel that it will be a valuable tool in saving lives at the grass roots level.


Much of my learning has taken place outside of the classroom in places like the market, bars, or just in passing. Most Zambians have been very friendly and approachable always willing to communicate and hear a few words in English, and are always rather surprised when I display my Nyanja skills. Bargaining and shopping was always an adventure. Strolling through the boma(market) never got old as it was unlike any market in the states offering the opportunity to negotiate prices, buy fresh food and bear witness to a nearly overwhelming amount of smells, sounds and sights. Tony, Tom and I befriended a shop keeper that we called 'big man' who was always enthusiastic and welcoming whenever we came to visit him. He could get us anything we wanted that we couldn't find in exchange that we agreed to play for his struggling soccer team. Yet in the one game we played with his team we couldn't be of much help(Zambians may not be the best at soccer, but they make up for it in endurance). Ultimately though, he was just happy we participated.


There have been studies regarding what specifics contribute to the success of a successful PCV, and one of the number one determining factors have been language, and the volunteers effort at mastering it and using it within their village post. Most PCV's test at a moderate level by the end of PST, and then go on to work only with other villagers that speak English, and eventually loose what skills they have been taught by the end of their 2 year service. However many others strive to master their language long after PST ends, and continue using it in their village and whenever possible gaining a stronger sense of respect from their farmers, counterparts and community and giving them a wider scope of farmers they are capable of working with. Many times these volunteers end their 2 year service as fluent as any other local villager. Coming across volunteers that have this fluency and discipline inspire me to keep at my language no matter how frustrated or exhausted I am with it. I do believe that it can dictate a great deal of trust and friendship as villagers recognize and respect the effort in a white foreigner trying to learn their culture and language.



I constantly hear many of my peers making grand plans for what they will pursue after they end service in 2 years time. Most plan on pursuing a higher degree at a university so they can go on to obtain a high paying job. This was my initial plan as Peace Corps does offer enticing packages regarding pursuing higher education upon COS(close of service). But when I compare the results of what one gains out of the Peace Corps compared to what one gains from pursing a higher degree, I only see one logical choice. Paying an unfeasible amount of money to a university that will mostly make you write, read and stress about a particular subject until a given standard is met does not seem to be as educationally rich and unique as what one gains by going through the Peace Corps experience. Sure you end up with a fancy piece of paper that might get you a job where you most likely manage other people and attend to 5 days a week Monday through Friday only to be looking up the ladder as to whom above you is going to retire first. Or, you can travel the world, see new things, constantly learn, do something new everyday, have employment freedom, speak new languages and help others besides yourself. All which appeal to me far more then stock piling a bank account. A house, a car, nice things are all tempting and enticing and part of the American dream, but at a second glance, I see a sense of slavery and demobilization. Who has the chance to travel the world aside from a brief vacation when you have a car payment or mortgage to make every month? I choose to pursue the career of a volunteer, see the world and learn as much as possible first hand before I croak. Traveling and assimilating into other cultures is educationally everlasting, offers tremendous growth, and focuses on bettering lives, yet in the process, one is also helping themselves become a better and more complete individual. I may never have a 3 bedroom house, a sports car, or a wife and kids, but what I will have is the accumulation of a vast number of worldly experiences that no gained fortune could ever buy. My time is far too precious to waste behind a desk, or whilst paying bills. The worlds a big place and I plan on seeing , learning and experiencing as much as possible one country at a time..

My host family in Chongwe

"Oh great spirit in the sky, please help me to always remember, that if my brother does not always follow in my footsteps, perhaps he marches to the beat of a different drum." - Cherokee Proverb.


The game of life has its highs and lows, costs and rewards, securities and insecurities. We begin life following orders and being told what to do, how to do it and when. Eventually, after many lessons, trials and tribulations, we gain our independence and are able to call the shots for ourselves. Independence is a spoiling luxury, and once you're out on your own, able to control your life how you please, going back to the latter can be a difficult concept.


After arriving in Country, meeting all of my peers, and experiencing first site visit, it was time for us RAP'ers (rural aquaculture promotion) to jump into an intense 11 week program entailing a rigid language course and Fish Farming program that would essentially prepare us for volunteer service in the bush. All whilst living with a host family that would better accustom us to the cultures and traditions of Zambian life. All 34 of us were on a bus on our way to Chongwe, a small city outside of Lusaka that would host our PST stay and training. We had with us the majority of our belongings, a rough outline with some basic language survival phrases and knots in our guts the size of softballs as we waited in fear and anxiety to be dropped off at our host familie's doorstep. It was entertaining and nerve racking; we navigated down a series of rugged dirt trails that were so beat we felt that the bus would fall apart at any moment. A few times it sounded as if the road had claimed a muffler or some other necessary mechanical part as payment for navigating such a large, ill prepared vehicle down such and uneven keel. It was off-roading...in a bus. At each stop a name was called, a trainee would gather their belongs and we'd all recite a little prayer for the trainee silently as we witnessed them exit the bus to make their introductions with their host family that they'd be staying with for the next 11 weeks. I had only been able to see a few people face their music as I was one of the first few to find out who my host family would be.


We pulled up to a half grass, half dirt yard with 3 huts; 1 large and 2 smaller with a large fruit tree in the middle and a decent sized farm surrounding the premise. Outside was a Zambian women hand washing cloths in a few large tubs who appeared to be in her mid 30's. She was surrounded by a hoard of e'ways(small children) that had all paused their fun and games to glare at the bus full of Muzunguz's(white people) that had just appeared our of nowhere on their front lawn. Similar to my first business transaction, I approached her and completely stumbled over the basic vocabulary that I had studied on the ride over (nerves always concur). She seemed amused and familiar to the routine and showed me to one of the smaller huts. I was surprised that she knew English, though not very well, yet it was much better then my slurred attempt at Nyanja.


My new living situation went from a hotel to a mud hut, about 8'x10', with no running water, a dirt floor, a tarp ceiling that was about 5 feet tall (yes, lots of squatting and hunched over living), a thatch roof (grass), a reed mat (my carpet) and a single light and Zambian outlet (which I was lucky to have, as most other volunteers did not have electricity at all). It took me some time(a few weeks) to find an adapter so I could use any of my American electronics. My bed was a full sized mattress on top of an old twin sized bed frame that was on top of a few mud bricks, with no box spring (so my mattress sunk into the frame and I felt like a semi-wrapped hot dog while sleeping). I also had a small wooden desk and stool for studying, and a half dozen candles that were put to frequent use during the power outages that occurred on a daily basis. Despite the dramatic shift of my new living situation, I couldn't have been more thrilled with my accommodations. It was all I hoped for with a touch of electricity. Eventually I made the place my own and liked referring to it as 'my little hobbit nook', which seemed appropriate given the shortness of the ceiling and the earthen foundation it was built from and upon. I hung pictures of my family from home, my mosquito net above my bed and nestled all of my fung shui around the one inconsistent light source (aside from my solar charged lantern and candles, but studying via candle or solar light adds a whole new challenge to focusing and concentration whilst studying). It was like college dorm living all over again but African style.


I was living with an immediate family of five, yet on the first day, I was constantly being introduced to various brothers and sisters, amai's (mothers) and atate's (fathers). I was overwhelmed, and couldn't narrow down who my real family was (immediate) until dinner that first night. My Atate was probably around his mid thirties, and worked as a maize grinder at the local hammer mill. He operated heavy machinery that grinned maize into the local staple food source that I'd soon be getting very accustomed to called nshima. An almost pure carbohydrate corn meal that resembled the result of leaving cream of wheat in the microwave too long, but with more lumps. He spoke 4 languages and was even very clear in English. An avid Manchester United fan, and had a very jolly laugh that could be heard from quite a distance. My mother was a homemaker, farmer, vegetable dealer and mother of 3. She was a very strong women, capable of handling red hot charcoals with her bare hands and of stirring the thickest batch of nshima like it was nobodies business (and believe you me, that shit was thick and a workout to prepare). After seeing her run through her daily routine a few times, I gained a tremendous amount of respect and fear for rubbing her the wrong way. She came down like a hammer whenever the children stepped out of line and was poised enough to never let stress or an overwhelming situation get the best of her. She was a seasoned stone faced general commanding the troops on the home front in a dominating strategic way that I soon became apart of.


I had two brothers and one sister. The oldest was Jr., and he was around 7, liked soccer, spoke a bit of English, and was enthusiastic about starting school in the following few months. He was quiet, well behaved, did a fair share of household chores, and very thankful and gracious whenever I gave him sweets or gifts despite how small or petty they were as It seemed he wasn't familiar with the concept of receiving. Beth was the middle child, somewhere around 4. Here hair style changed frequently and I was constantly mistaking her for other children. One day she was bald, the next she would have braids down to her shoulders. She was just starting to learn the language and was constantly singing songs and expressing herself the way a child would as they experiment with new phrases and sentences. She was very sweet and liked to hold my hand and walk me home whenever she saw me in the distance arriving back from school. Last, but not least, was baby Issac, the youngest who was currently undergoing the terrible-two phase. Issac was my favorite as well as my number one antagonist. He was notorious for sneaking in my hut and tampering with my belongings(which he in fact is doing as I type this blog). He was especially fascinated with my role of duct tape (which I constantly retrieved from him cover in mud), my soccer ball (which is now torn and deflated courtesy of his fascination with sharp objects and balls), my small packaged food supply(which are all coated with dried saliva), and my mouse trap (which nearly claimed his fingers on multiple occasions). Despite his mischievous behavior, I grew quite fond of him without a clear reason as to preciously why. I speculate that it could be the fact that I have never lived around young children his age that I can remember or possibly because of the innocence of his youth. I think that as we grow older our creativity is suppressed by the sigma of being wrong and corrected so many times, and baby Issac was at an age were he has yet to experience that suppression of his true character. His bold behavior was, at times, a pleasure to witness. He never failed to make me laugh and always entertained me beyond satisfaction during dinner by his unpredictable behavior, pure creativity, playful attitude and rebelliousness. I have to admit that my fondness of children has been escalated (somehow) due to living with such an amusing two year old such as him.
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My days would begin around six in the morning as my Amai would knock on my hut door with a small tub of warm water for me to wash my face with. I'd sweep my hut, eat breakfast (always 4 slices of bread, peanut butter and tea) and start my day by either biking to language class or biking to the school center for technical/ cross cultural studies. I'd return home for lunch to find nshima and rape(the local vegetable green that closely resembles kale), then head back to school for the second session of training. Id return home once more for the remainder of the evening, play some guitar, kick the soccer ball around with Jr., and then study language or technical all the way until my bath. Id bathe outside among the stars with a tub of hot water and a mug that would act as my shower head. We'd usually eat dinner as a family sometime around 9 and I played the role of an active listener during family conversations and try my best to keep up with the dialogue. The only questions I consistently answered was what I was doing the following day, the time I had to be to school, and If I needed a packed lunch or not. My language skills eventually picked up after some time and I began reciting simple phrases and descriptions about my days and other activities. Occasionally I would use my English and bond a bit with my Atate by watching soccer highlights after dinner. Yet valued my retreat back to my hut when he'd initiate his cellphones music player and narrow song selection (which was either Kenny rogers, or the Titanic theme song over and over and over....and over). The communication barrier, though inherent, each day began to crumble little by little as my language skills began to improve and I became capable of comprehending their conversations. I developed a fondness with all of my family members and slowly began to feel like Chongwe was a place I could call home. The differences that I initially held for my family began to slowly dissolve and what grew inn its place was recognition of the similarities and the common humanity that we in fact shared.


I am currently half way through my PST experience with my post and swear in ceremony(becoming a volunteer) on the horizon. I've come quite a ways since arriving in country in such a short amount of time and give lots of credit to the PC program for driving us to "Keep the fire burning" as they would say. From having the fearful softball knot and riding on the unstable bus to bathing under the stars and having the softball knot replaced by 5 nshima lumps a meal, I'd say that my acclimation into Zambian life is developing quite well. Though I long for independence and the luxury of sleeping in, and cooking my own meals I will never forget the kindness, generosity and patience that my host family has displayed. Its not easy accepting a foreigner into your home, especially when he's so unfamiliar with basic day to day living standards. I imagine that on more then one occasion I have butchered a basic phrase that had already been slowly repeated a dozen times before, or that my aim was rather off in the chimbozee (bathroom) and I created a mess that could have been avoided with better technique. Yet with all these shortcoming and burdens that I have undoubtedly caused, they have remained caring and friendly without any sign of animosity or reluctance towards my stay. They have been prime example of how generous and giving the people here in Zambia are and I feel as though I will never be able to express my appreciation and gratitude enough for all they have done on my behalf. Despite our origins, unique cultures and differing drums beats that we may follow, there will always be a place for the Luvwala's in my heart..

First site visit in Kalicero

27-8-12

We had been in country all but 3 days when we were told to pack our things and prepare for a camping trip in the bush. Our initial stay at the barn motel was comforting. It gave us a chance to develop relationships with other PCT's, PCV's, staff members and better understand what we were getting into. But just as we were settling in and our jet lag was wearing away, we were told to began packing once more for a tour across the country. It was called 'First Site visit', and it was a chance for us to get our first taste of what life in a village consisted of, and weather we had made the right decision in coming to Zambia. We were divided into small groups and sent in land cruisers to different parts of the country to live with an experienced PCV for a few days and shadow their daily activities. We were following directions and had little idea as to what we were about to experience.


After packing the bare essentials, I hoped in a land cruiser with my group and headed out to the Eastern Province, to a district called Petauke to a village called Chataika not far from the Zambia/ Mozambique boarder. We were looking at a 6 hour ride on one of the only paved roads in Zambia, very windy and very dangerous. Lucky for us, our driver was not only safe, but also kind enough to answer questions and teach us some basic survival phrases in Nyanja along the way as our anxieties were rather high. We made a few stops, one at a market to purchase vegetables. The pit stop was our first real encounter with bush locals. When we exited the car, all eyes in the market were fixed on our every move, business seemed to come to a brief halt and we felt like quite the spectacle for a good five minutes. Initially we huddled together like timid sheep, apprehensive to wander and mingle. I was even asked to escort a few PCT's to the bathroom. It took some courage, but I eventually decided to make a move and purchase an egg sandwich at a food stand near by. I felt semi confident about voicing the little language skill I had, yet when I approached the stand, nerves set in and I completely forgot even the most basic greetings. It was a poor first attempt at making a simple business transaction. Eventually I snapped out of my daze and played charades until I walked away with what I had originally set out for, yet with not the slightest clue as to weather or not I had been swindled or over charged which was likely.


The remainder of the ride to the east was educating. We passed by many small villages some baboons and a slew of overturned semi-trucks. I was very curious to know why so many vehicles were overturned(and I still don't have a satisfying answer) and the only reason I was given is that drinking and driving is not an uncommon thing in Zambia, even among truck drivers transporting precious cargo, and when you combine dangerous roads and drunk drivers..needless to say you get accidents. The most dangerous hazard for all PCV's (I was surprised to find) is transportation. We traveled over an impressive bridge, saw crocodiles and noticed much of the countryside engulfed in active fires. Another depressing country fact (and there are many) is that Zambia is the number one deforested country in the world, mainly because the people use charcoal for their cooking (which is a product of trees) and also because its a way to control their foliage, yet the method they utilize is very damaging to the environment, and there is little action among the people to change this pressingly serious environmental hazard. It is predicted that in 5 years, Zambia will be a completely deforested country. A depressing scenario to visualize.


When we eventually arrived at our designated PCV site we were delighted to find motivated and proactive volunteers that welcomed us with open arms. Our site host was a PCV's named Chuck(aka Chuckson) and living with him was his finance Jen. Visiting him from other sites close by were Caleb, a LIFE volunteer, and Johnathan another RAP volunteer. They were all delighted to see us and were more then helpful in answering all of questions throughout our stay. Chuck had a background in animal science and had a number of relevant side projects valuable to his village, including multiple successful fish ponds. He had a rabbit pin, Chicken Coup (with over 70 chickens), a bee keeping side project (in your face Maren) and he was introducing turkeys to the province for the first time. Many neighbors and villagers would spend hours just staring at the Turkeys outside his hut. Caleb was a LIFE volunteer(agriculture) and very knowledgeable in all the fauna around the area. Johnathan was an expert at fish farming and in speaking Nyanja. It was inspiring to see him communicate with the locals as his skills were equivalent to any other born and raised villager. And Jen had been in country for over three years and seemed the most experienced and pleasantly affected by African living, it gave me hope that not everyone goes crazy from spending too much time in the bush.


Throughout our entire stay we laughed, joked, learned and discovered many great ways about how to find success as a PCV. We saw first hand each of Chuck's projects and were more then impressed by the quality relations that he had developed with each and everyone of his village counterparts. He was an active member in working towards community development and all of the revenue that could have been accumulated by his projects were donated to the local school.


One day we took a tour of his village, meet the head man, took a hike to a distant peak/mountain to witness an incredible view of much of the countryside including Mozambique. We harvested one of his fish ponds and had hands on experience ahead of any other PCT's in being able to see what goes into the final product of a successful fish harvest. Chuck and I participated in a village soccer match that the villagers enjoyed so much they insisted on me saying a speech afterwards that was translated by Chuck and in doing so I had won the hearts and handshakes of many of the villagers that I had played with.


On the last evening of our stay we were fortunate enough to witness the cultural dances specific to the Eastern Province called Meyow dancing. Meyow dancing was a cultural right of passage for young men passing into manhood, a sacred ritual performed only a few times during the year. Young boys would dress in cultural headdress and dance and parade about in a large circle to the beating of drums and chants of other villagers. It was a provocative and culturally rich experience. We were invited to sit in the very front row and witness the impressive events unfold. It was similar to what I would have expected from African culture and an absolute pleasure to be apart of and bear witness to.


That night we had fish tacos from the pond harvest earlier, homemade peanut butter and tortillas (that Jen should us how to make) and African wine. Johnathan and myself set off a box of fireworks that he had been saving for a special occasion and what made it especially amusing was that the villagers had never witnessed fireworks before. It was there first ever 'Fourth of July' experience, and seeing the astonishment and awe on their faces as we put on a show put a lot in perspective for me about what we take for granted in America. It was a little taste of American Culture in Zambia brought about by Johnathan and myself. Hearing the excitement and joy as the villagers witnessed the fireworks go off was something I will never forget. They had showed us a rich side of their culture, as we had showed them a part of ours. It was my first noteworthy exchange of cultural practices in my time in Zambia and it couldn't have gone any better. For the remainder of the night, we sat around a campfire, drank wine, sang Beatles songs by guitar, conversed merrily and reflected upon all we had learned and done in the short few days we had been at his site. We all had an incredible time and were inspired by all we had seen and participated in during our stay...it was awesome.


In the morning we packed our bags and said our good byes to Chuck, Jen, Caleb, Johnathan and a few friends we had made in the village. We were all more then grateful at having such a proactive and model PCV and we didn't really know how lucky we were until we arrived back at the barn and discovered how all of the other PCT's first site visits had gone compared to our own. Not one PCT was able to depict an experience anywhere as rich, exciting and memorable. In fact It was unfortunate to hear that many others had a more negative experiences then positives one where their PCV host lacked motivation, side projects and in general the rigor and drive that Chuck and the rest of the PCT's had at our site. I felt sorry for the others and at the same time thankful that Chuck was our host. Seeing his success gave me so many ideas and a clear understanding at the potential that PC can offer that I felt that I was given a notable advantage compared to others, without which I doubt I would possess as much motivation as I have now.


A few days after settling back into the barn I had learned that Chuck was also inspired by my motivation and charisma towards modeling much of my experience after his. I had expressed my willingness and interest in taking over his site and or duplicating many of his innovative ideas depending where I would be posted. His COS (close of service) was exactly around the time we would be swearing in and he would be looking to have his site replaced by an incoming volunteer to carry on his work from our intake .Yet the decision would not be up to him or me as to whom would be his replacement. Despite this, and the fact that we weren't suppose to be designated a site for some time, I learned that he had requested me specifically to other staff members as a suitable candidate and a preference for picking up where he would leave off. I was flattered and enthralled to learn of the news and had a new tangible goal to work towards. Knowing exactly where I was going to be posted weeks ahead of any of my peers gave me drive and motivation to take PST serious and strive to achieve as much success and knowledge as possible to further his work in the village.


I will never forget my first site visit to Chataika and the wonderful motivated PCT's that evoked so much inspiration as to what the PC experience can amount to. There is no question now in my mind that I am exactly where I am suppose to be and I can't wait to get started picking up where Chuck will soon leave off at my future post in the Eastern Province of Zambia. I have big shoes to fill, big plans in the making and a lot to learn as I set out to begin my volunteer work as a Peace Corps volunteer. BIG THANGS await and the first step is only 11 weeks away..

Sleeping in Chongwe

19-8-2012




"Life is just a mirror and what you see out there you must first see inside of yourself." - Wally Amos



There are many elements of American life that I miss; being able to get in my car and drive, the ease of accessing hot water with a mere turn of a knob, and the mouth watering sensation of a burrito meshing with my taste buds... Yet among these modern luxuries that I unknowingly took for granted until this PC experience is having a peaceful sleeping atmosphere. One where lights could be switched off and disturbances would be at a minimum for the majority of the night. It was glorious to have the commodity of retreating into a room, closing a door and having peace and quite until daybreak. Those days however are a fleeting memory. A tale of a life back home that once offered the possibility of 8 hours of sleep throughout the night. And now, even the thought of 7, or even 6 hour sleep is an unlikely scenario..

For the past three weeks, I have lived in a small village. Here the people live a simple life. There is only one main road and a series of paths that lead to different villages and shanties. Most live without electricity, all without plumbing. You'd think by these standards that life would be peaceful. Somewhat of a relaxing break away from the hustle and bustle of urban living. If you assumed these facts to be true, just as I, you couldn't be further from the truth.


My nights here are anything but peaceful. I've never been a model sleeper, I usually wake up a few times in the middle of the night to tend to a disruptive bladder, yet I find so many other factors that contribute to a restless night sleep that my bladder is now the least of my woes. First are the rats. Not one, not two, but a hoard of rats that swarm my hut the moment the lights go out. I hear them in the dark while I lay in bed. They scurry about most likely searching for food, but sometime from the sound of their claws, I think they're playing an organized game of soccer. Despite my conscience efforts in keeping my hut immaculate they still come. I sleep with a flashlight in one hand and a shoe in the other and constantly arise when I hear them approach. I sleep light and am always ready to strike when their ugly head rears in my flashlights beam . I am becoming a seasoned vet in the art of setting traps and anticipating their escape moves. So far I have caught three, two by smashing with a shoe. Though I am desperate to exterminate the species, I'm beginning fear them less, and have mildly been accepting their presence as a part of Zambian life.


There's a bar less then 1 km down the road, and similar to many American bars, it closes very late and plays very loud music. It wouldn't be such an issue if Zambia had a better rounded music selection, but I am not so lucky. They play a total of 3 songs; three songs played all night long in a continuous fashion somewhat similar to what you'd expect if a burnt out Lynard Skynard fan made all the musical requests at a dive bar in the deep south. Yet I'm even less partial towards Zam-Pop. If there is some type of auditory water-boarding torture that I'm not aware of, this would be a close rendition. To exacerbate the situation, the bar sends a slew of drunken divas, both men and women, stumbling past my house all with a perceived licence to sing, repeating tunes with no volume control as they retreat back to their shanty dwelling.


Aside from the rats, my home stay family has two dogs. A male named Scooby, and a female named Spot. They are wonderful dogs and I credit their excellent guarding skills for part of the reason why I feel so safe. They seem like a very fitting couple and are very territorial about our area. One morning, about a week after being placed in my home stay, I awoke to find 4 other dogs near, yet keeping their distance from both Spot and Scooby. They were all male, and after observing their particular interest in Spot, Bob Barker's famous quote about having your dogs fixed began make sense . For 3 weeks now, poor Spot has been on the defense from horny, seed spreading males all with one thing on their minds. Despite Scooby's brave and valiant efforts, there have been several dogs that have been larger, stronger and more aggressive. The result has been constant growling and barking, late night fights, blood curling yelps, a tired frustrated Spot, and a bloody and scarred Scooby. I'm beginning to believe that Spot is the only female around these parts. Every night i'm torn on weather I should exit my hut and intervene in these intense quarrels, or let nature run its course.


Another noteworthy sleep impediment are the preventive medications that Peace Corps prescribes to us. Namely Methloquine, which is a doxy (preventive) for Malaria. I have dabbled in the experimentation of mind altering drugs once or twice in my youth, but when it comes to real crazy trips, I mean intense vivid dreams, Methloquine takes the prize. My dreams since being on the drug have been intensely detailed and vivid and I have become quite fond of the nights when I do take the drug ( which is once a week), because It supplements for the lack of entertainment on those long dull nights in my hut when reading doesn't cut it. After a night when the drug level peak, I usually wake up laughing, sometimes relieved, always baffled and consistently exhausted because my mind, instead of resting, was composing some off the wall mind adventure that came from god knows where.


The symphony of the night is often complimented with crying babies, wandering cows, and active fruit bats that I think live in my thatch roof. And going back to the bladder issue, I've decided to take advantage of an abandoned 2 liter container that I use as a temporary rest room because my restroom is too far for comfort to be walking to half asleep in middle of the night. A chimbozie (Outdoor bathroom) isn't the most comforting facility as it is, and is usually a hangout spot at night for rats and or unfriendly poisonous snakes. My advice to anyone contemplating Zambia as a vacation spot, especially if your going to do village living is to get as much rest as you can before traveling in country. A quite night doesn't exist here..

First Impressions

24-8-2012


"The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience." -Eleanor Roosevelt

Since arriving in Zambia, there have been many sighs of relief shared by both me and my fellow PVT's (Peace Corps Trainees; not volunteers until training is complete). The first and most relieving was felt upon exiting the plane and arriving in Zambia. The destination total took us easily 24 hours and for most of us, it felt like a week. Traveling to the other side of the world is demanding and I have gained a new found respect for all those international diplomats and businessman that perform it on a routine basis. Its definitely not for me. The second was making eye contact with my luggage at the baggage claim because we had heard terrible stories of others in our position prior who had their bags mistakenly sent to other parts of Africa. A nightmare that none of us wanted to be apart of, especially since our luggage was all we had for the next 2 years. And the third came from witnessing our initial accommodations, which weren't quite what we had expected. A hotel, though not quite up to American standards, but still a hotel. It was fairly beat up and run down, but not the shanty hut that we had scene in national geographic or read about in our PC prep Manuel. Turns out they wanted to break us into Africa slowly.


Our hotel was located just outside of Lusaka and appropriately enough, it was called the Barn Inn. It had a humble spread with decent landscaping and a safe feel compared to some of the scenery on the bus ride from the airport, which was a little more of what you'd expect from a third world country. My room had a total of 4 lights throughout the suite with only 2 bulbs, so I guess it only had 2 lights. There were mosquito nets hanging above the beds( that I broke the first night), and there was no hot water..at all. In America, this accommodation would be the scene you'd expect in a horror movie or a cheap afternoon delight rest stop. But in Zambia, this was prime living only available to the rich and privileged. You can imagine that I was a bit upset about not having a heated shower after a 24 some hour plane flight across the globe. Yet, my will convinced me that this was an initial step in the tolerance that I'd be formulating in the next few months as I acclimate to African living .


Learning more about the staff who manage and looked after our well being gave me comfort and reassurance that Peace Corps really was a organized government entity. The healthcare provided seemed much better then any I had received in America, which first threw some red flags and anxieties, yet also gave me relief knowing that I wouldn't be turned away due to lack of insurance or a crowded waiting room. It was also reassuring to learn of the rigorous orientation and training that we would soon be going through. Most of us had felt rather unqualified for the work we would be doing, we fretted that Peace Corps would just drop us off in some remote village and have us figure the rest out. Not at all. We would undergo an intense 11 week program of strict language training and in depth technical fish farming. They assured us that we would enter training unqualified, yet exit with the knowledge and skills that a successful Peace Corps Volunteer possesses, despite the fact that we had never heard of any of the local languages, and most of us knew jack about how to farm a fish.


It has been good to be able to pick the brains of other PCV's who have been in country for a good amount to time. Both in asking them questions and discovering all the discouraged yet tapped resources and methods of living that are not recommend, yet utilized by PCV's regardless of the frowns and sighs by some of the higher ups. Among them is hitchhiking, which makes the safety and security officer here cringe, but is an obvious and primary means of transportation among all the vet Volunteers. Another reason its good to be around volunteers that have been in country for some time is to see how much different they are compared to the rest of us who are still very fresh off the boat. Some seem to be affected in a positive way, while others seem to have a jadedness about them. I've noticed that not everyone who stays in Peace Corps really should. The sense of pride is like a leash that seems to keep many here even though it may not be for their own good. Yet its also reassuring to see others with a genuine contentedness to humanity and themselves that many of us newbies are ignorant towards. Their style of communication is direct, focused and sincere; not deterred by technologies or the sense of having to be other places other then where they are at the present moment. They seem to value the conversations and the people within them and are not longing for the past or anxious about the future. It is a characteristic that I hope Africa grants me by the end of my service.

Our intake has been recognized by other PCV's and PC officials as a very cohesive, friendly group unlike most other intakes prior. Its unusual that most everyone gets along and that not many have ET'd( Early termination) as of yet. I can also confirm that I feel that most of us in the group are at least easy going and enjoyable to be around. The sense of camaraderie amongst us contributes to the sense of safety and support that reassures me that I have made the right decision in coming here.


Although I'd love to claim that I have not a care in the world up to this point there are many anxieties on my mind and a consistent amount of stress that goes with being a PCT on the brink of volunteer service. The most obvious questions: What language will I get assigned? Will I pass the test and be fluent in 11 weeks ? Where will I be posted for 2 years? Will there be anyone near me? And then there are questions that came about from reading the medical Manuel, and that list is far too long, but some of the honorable mentions: What do I do when I get malaria (because its almost guaranteed)? What the hell is trich (and a dozen other diseases I've never heard of)? What do I do if I get bite by a black Mamba/Puff Adler/Rattlesnake/ Spitting Cobra (Other then panic)? What the hell is a scorpian spider? Though many of these questions had reassuring answers by the medical staff, many could not lull over my stressors no matter how many times I would rephrase the questions. It goes back to not having hot water in the room though, its one of the things I'll have to accept, the very real possibility of something bad happening, and adapt to it with the best of my abilities, with what life has taught me thus far. Peace Corps has its list of risks and though I was aware of them before coming to Africa, they were heightened greatly after learning about them more in depth. Though someone like me feels more at home when living the life becomes more dangerous and less predictable on a day to day basis, which is a big reason for my decision to join in the first place. I suppose its a double edged blade.


I anxiously await all that lies before me, the struggles, the rewards, the highs, the lows, the breakthroughs, the pitfalls but maybe not the snakes. Its an exciting time to be on the brink of adventure such as this. A moment that goes unexamined, underrated and unmentioned, standing at the starting line. Once it is behind us it can never return, the adventure begins the road ahead commences and the comfort of knowing your future ceases to exist, the future is now created step by step, molded by the very decisions and actions that we choose. Only a very minute amount of American have embarked on such a journey that the percentage doesnt exist in rational numbers. It makes me proud to be a statistic in that respect..

Good friends mean good things..

July 17, 2012




The days leading up to today have been rather surreal. From the going away parties, to the finally encounters with friends, and the emotional good byes with loved ones. So far, this experience has had a 'going-away-to-college' feel that I recall back in 2005 when I ventured to Hawaii. Yet this 2 years stint won't included a trip back home for the holidays, or a nice summer vacation. Once I begin this long journey, there really is no going back until my assignment is fulfilled. A 15 hour plane flight is not something I can sit through easily or willingly. In essence, Its the point of no return.




Philly has been wonderful. I've met some great new people, enjoyed some new and authentic meals (Philly cheese steak!), and slept in a comfortable hotel bed. It seems more or less like a relaxing vacation away from it all. Yet what's to come is going to be a complete 180 from my norm.




A friend told me while saying good bye at a party recently that I was an amazing person for doing this, a 'stand out' guy among others. And while I do appreciate the flattery, I couldn't help but think about what qualifies me as this 'stand out' guy compared to my other friends? I came to the conclusion that I couldn't disagree with his kind words more.




Without people like him, I wouldn't be doing any of this. In my eyes, he has always been the amazing person. I'm certain that anyone of my friends, being in a similar situation as mine, would do the same thing. Help others less privileged, travel to another part of the world, participate in meaningful work, give back. Those are the types of friends I naturally like being around, and they have shaped and molded me into the type of person I am today. Friends are more influential then we sometimes realize and without them, I would probably be some low self-esteemed bum hiding in the hills, living under a rock. We need friends, among other relationships to thrive and succeed.




There really is nothing that sets me apart from my friends, and I really want to stress that. They are me. I am them. We get along because we can build upon each others thoughts and ideas and further or insight on what we want to do in life to help us accomplish our goals. The interactions that we share breed the initiative and actions that bring us closer to our passions and desires. Without which, we would be nothing except oxygen breathing consumers. And I'm sure that everyone of the PCV's are here for similar reasons. Because of great friends.




To all those at home, and whom I've left behind, know that because of you, I am here today and I thank you for the inspirational spoken words that you've bestowed on me at some point or another in time. I will seek out Africa with the knowledge and wisdom that we all shared and venture there with your spirit in my heart.




Today marks the real beginning of my journey. A different life. A different culture. A new adventure. At 2am (tomorrow technically), I leave behind showers for buckets, I leave behind Mexican food for corn meal. I leave behind cars for bikes. A new challenging world awaits and my motivation derives from all the wonderful people in my life. I'm very excited to be apart of this and look forward to sharing more experiences on the next post. Until next time, stay classy..

Prologue

July 8 2012 – Prologue

"Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending." -Maria Robinson


There are few things sadder then faded memories. I suppose something worse would be not experiencing any altogether. Though no matter who you are, everyone has a version of a good memory. We often forget memories over time or they fade. Sometimes we’re fortunate to be reminded by others or sometimes on our own account. We remember certain memories whimsically, through pictures and memorabilia or through accounts, such as this one.


As a society, we’re bread to always be busy and multi-task to the limit. Accomplish goals. Commence. Move on to higher ones. This repetitive pattern has a tendency to scatter our thoughts and slowly push old memories out to make room for new ones. We move in a linear fashion further and further from our past until eventually memories go beyond our scope of recollection. And we forget.


I never thought that I’d be the kind of person to start a blog, but as I sit here in front of the computer beginning the appropriate setting and style for a blog that I’m going to be actively adding to for the next year or so, I have a feeling that I’m doing something that I won’t regret. Something I've never done on any adventure, yet when this experience is all said and done, I will finally have a hard account and a reminder of the experience I went through. I have forgotten many good times, and now I feel responsible for taking an active role and recording this next big adventure through writing...Oh Mr. Gordon would be so proud.


For the record I will quickly discuss the express version of my background before I dive into what I will be doing for the next 27 months...
 

I am 28 years old and a Southern Californian local. After finishing college at the University of Hawaii and taking on a series of miscellaneous jobs that never quite challenged me, I applied for the Peace Corps and made it in (hence the reason behind this blog). I finally felt that I had struck a challenge…a real BIG challenge.


It was July 2011 when my sister and I were nominated for Peace Corps Volunteer service after a successful interview at the national headquarters in Los Angeles. And yes, I said it.. my sister and I. Turns out she was in the same boat as me as far as the lacking challenge aspect went.


I recall driving homeward down the southern Californian coast after being told the news by our interviewer (on the spot by the way) with a thrilling feeling of accomplishment that we were about to embark on something major, beyond anything we’ve done before. It was the start of a new chapter in both our lives and we couldn't be more excited that we had meaningful career direction going for us for a change.


On a warm April day the following year, I was at a sushi restaurant awaiting a freshly prepared entree when I received a call from an unknown number. It was a placement officer who was reviewing a file of paperwork that I had submitted a month or so prior. The paper work’s thickness was hardly shy of a yellowbook from all the vaccination and medical waivers that were required of all PCV’s. I was expecting that there were errors that needed correcting. Instead, she was calling to place me in an assignment! After a brief and friendly interrogation she deemed me qualified to serve in an Aquaculture program in Africa based on my experience and skill set. And just like that, I was being deployed to Africa. All my hard work and effort that I had been putting in for an entire year was paying off and materializing.


A few weeks later, details arrived via email regarding my assignment, which was to grow food and integrate aquaculture with agriculture as a RAP (rural aquaculture promotion) agent stationed in Zambia. From the information gained from the introduction packet it seemed in many ways very related to my line of work the last three years. Without hesitation, I accepted the assignment..


There are now eight days remaining until I depart for my trip; first stop is in Philly for basic orientation, then from New York to Johannesburg (a nice quick 14.5 hour flight) and finally Johannesburg to Zambia (2 hour flight). Right now, despite all the blogs I read from previous PCV members about how I should not fret about what to bring and what not to bring, I am fretting.. Fretting and stressing about all those little details and knick-knacks that could mean so much in a place that lacks so much that I'm accustomed to. I suppose I should get use to it though. Uncertainty and vagueness is a feeling I’ve been told to get use to. On the bright side, uncertainty and vagueness do offer excitement, variety and adventure depending on how you look at it. One sure thing though is that variety and adventure are usually rather scarce during the everyday 9-5 grind you find in America.


I’m anxious to finish collecting all my gear, download all my music and tie up any, and all, lose ends before I get in the celebratory/farewell mood that so many of my family and friends want before I depart. It’s not a simple task to dissolve your life and see everyone you know one last time. Your schedule gets stretched quickly and there’s much more stress about forgetting things then relief from the fact that I'm beginning a new. Unlike my college experience, I have nowhere to leave my possessions as the place I’m currently residing will most likely not be present when I return two years from now. Everything I own must fit comfortably into 2 bags with strict length limitations and weight restrictions.


Even as I sit here and conclude the final paragraphs for this first blog entry I can’t help but have a feeling that I should really be directing my time towards other, more pressing and productive tasks that would better my preparation situation. Yet I guarantee that once I do change modes into other tasks, I’ll still feel a sense of failure in my time management. It hardly matters what I do at this point, it’s difficult to feel any sort of peace and assurance when I’m attempting to gather everything I will need for two years in a place I’ve never been. Despite the uncertainty and the inconsistency of my emotions, I will follow through. I will continue to participate in this blog through the best and worst of times that arise and document everything. If nothing else, it will be entertaining to read this upon my completion of service and see how far I've come. Or as a reference for others who start this trip in a few years time..


I don't want to repeat the same mistake of forgetting the precious memories that lie ahead as I have done with opportunities in the past. Of all the experiences and encounters throughout the years, I’d wager this one as having the most potential and it will likely define who I am, and will be, years after I return.


I will devote everything I have into these next two years: my focus, energy, passion, and treat it as a self-fulfilling career rather than a work-to-live job and that's because it offers me something that few other jobs in my work experience have ever been able to offer me..Meaning..


So..
one week to go..
…this will take some steady poise.