Kitty Lost and Found

Franky decided to take a brief hiatus from captivity and had me feeling like a dead-beat “mom.” My friend Micke texted me, “Don’t worry about the cat. Cat’s are like women: they need their space, but they always come back when their credit cards are canceled.” Ha Ha. The kids in the neighborhood helped make signs and hunted all over the neighborhood. Thankfully Franky showed up last night, beat-up, but in one piece. He was hungry and eager for shelter, so I suppose Micke was right. Rotten cat. Rotten Micke.

On the one hand, life has been rather mundane: doing a little teaching, playing a little Settler’s of Catan, and shooting a little film. On the other hand, there has been lots of sad things: the loss of a baby and a professor, spending time with women in the local prison is haunting (how does one talk about freedom and hope in a place so depleted of soul?), and my 17 year-old friend Mirinda, 7 months pregnant, is debating whether or not to become the second wife of the man who impregnated her. She doesn't want to marry him, but she is cold and hungry and sleeps on the ground at night. My friend Peg reminded me of this quote by Henri Nouwen and is seems rather apropos:

"Our faithfulness will depend on our willingness to go where there is brokenness, loneliness, and human need. If the church has a future it is a future with the poor in whatever form."

I'm not trying to be stupidly moralistic. I believe Nouwen is right.

Filming with Jane

I have a new friend visiting from Britain and she asked me to join her for an afternoon of filming yesterday. She is putting together a short documentary about a family that lives in a compound here in Kitwe. I taught all morning in a local church and then rushed home for a quick switch of clothes and roles. I rather like the denim and camera version of me—it allows for a different manner of storytelling.

The girls dressed up for the occasion (as you can see) and were eager to be on camera. The family recently opened a brick-making business using some new energy-efficient equipment (requires no petrol, very little cement, and uses local soil that can be dug from your own front yard). The bricks are much more hearty than the porous ones typically used that crumble after only a few rainy seasons. The hope is that this business and these bricks will improve the quality of life for the broader community.

OPPORTUNITIES FOR GIVING

Principles that guide “good giving” aren’t as straightforward as you might think, so allow me to share some basic lessons I have learned in the last six months!

THREE BASIC RULES IN GIVING:

1. EFFECTIVE GIVING CREATES CAPACITY, NOT DEPENDENCY!

GOOD GIVING: Invest in projects, people, and organizations that promote self-sustaining activities. Empower people. Equip people. Avoid making contributions that are not usable or replaceable without your assistance.

WHERE WE MESSED UP: American clothing donations flooded Zambian markets in the 1990’s and despite good intentions, this served to ruin the Zambian textile industry. Garments produced locally could not “compete” with free used clothing that poured in from abroad. When we give we must be careful that our donations are not doing more harm than good! Buy local and encourage others to support local businesses!

2. LET THOSE RECEIVING AID TELL YOU WHAT THEY NEED!

GOOD GIVING: This notion may sound very obvious, but I’ve seen countless examples of people giving, albeit generously, items that were never needed in the first place.

WHERE WE MESSED UP: I spoke with a Malawian physician recently who laughed as she recalled an American church that came to do a short-term mission project in her hospital. They brought dozens of boxes of old medical equipment that are now collecting dust in a corner of the hospital. Why, you ask? Because the equipment is simply not usable in their context! It was not what they really needed.

The hospital focused on delivering healthy babies to healthy mothers. The life expectancy of the average Malawian is 35. Disease and malnutrition are pressing issues and the American church failed to address the real needs of Malawians in that community. Let those receiving aid tell you what they need!

For more info on Malawi, check out info on the World Health Organization website: http://www.who.int/countries/mwi/en/

3. THINK PRACTICAL, NOT EXTRAVAGANT!

GOOD GIVING: Have you seen the fantastic statistics on micro-lending? This is effective giving. Women in rural areas tend to be the recipient of micro-loans and these loans (often providing money to create self-sustaining, productive farms and small businesses) are improving community life all over the developing world!

WHERE WE MESSED UP: A wealthy church in Canada wanted to give a million dollars to support hospitals in Zimbabwe. They wanted strict control over where the money was spent, but in the meanwhile, they did not consider the fact that a huge lump-sum like this can do more harm than good. Corruption is rampant in nearly every sector of society (not just in Zimbabwe—this seems to be an issue all over Africa). Money was siphoned into the deep pockets of some wealthy managers and ended up failing to support local hospitals. “Control” by the giver isn’t the answer. The answer is partnership. Develop relationships with an organization. Find out the needs of the organization and together discover practical ways that you can meet these needs. Think financially small. Think relationally big!

La La La La Luapula

Just returned from the rural Luapula Province where fishing, witchcraft, and cholera flourish. Local guides casually mention Archaeological sites from the Early Stone Age as if prehistoric rock paintings and tools are rather mundane and not worth much fuss. I tromped through rivers and waterfalls throughout the area and enjoyed a day off along the banks of beautiful Lake Bangweulu where curious fisherman drew their boats close to investigate the white woman lounging about in the sun, book in hand, looking very self-indulgent and bourgeois.

While I was in Samfya teaching a course in a small church that reeked of acrid ammonia courtesy of dozens of bats that dance in the rafters at dusk, we were alerted of a cholera outbreak in the community. Cholera devastates communities because they initiate fishing bans and bans on fishing means that people go hungry. Brutal. The minister had to go attend to a number of families in the congregation who were sick and suddenly bereft of loved ones. By the time we left about 30 people had died.

We traveled to a village called Mununga, which is proudly touted as the “heartland of witchcraft” in Zambia. People told me all sorts of stories about people turning into crocodiles and eating enemies and curses and charms and all kinds of black medicine. I attended my first exorcism, which is another story in itself, but I can offer the short version in one mass generalization: the West tends to psychologize and medicalize evil and human fragility whereas Africa personifies it. Demons and talking snakes and flying witches are a part of people’s daily lives and serve to explain all kinds of illness and hardship.

We stayed in a rather disgusting guesthouse where condom packages littered the ground and the stench of pit latrines lingered in my room at night. I wrote in my journal that first night, “We must be about two turns and a few kilometers from hell.” I had a good laugh when I found out that the name of this guesthouse is “God Knows.” But as my mom used to say, “Things always look brighter in the morning.” As we made our way to the church for our first seminar I had dozens of children following me around like lemmings. The toddlers were afraid and refused to get too close and I made some babies cry, but I eventually made friends with these small chaps. By day 2 we were playing “Nkoko, Nkoko, Chibata” (Duck, Duck, Goose) and by day 3 a massive heard of children were waiting on the doorstep of the church, ready to play with the muzungu when we arrived for our final day of teaching.

Interested in more info about wealth/health disparity in the world? Check out this website: http://www.gapminder.org/gapminder-world.html

Here are some pics from the last couple of weeks: mamas cooking nshima and villagers eager to have their pics taken.

Chimfunshi Chimpanzee Orphanage

I admit that I did not have high expectations of this place. Maybe it was because all of the guidebooks say that Chimfunshi is nearly impossible to get to without a 4x4 vehicle and it is run by some rather grouchy South Africans, but this was not the case in the least! The road was not great, but worth every pothole! The family that runs this orphanage containing 122 chimps (mostly rescued from the Congo and the babies that have born in captivity) is very warm and insanely in love with their animals and the workers that attend to them are exceptionally knowledgeable. We watched them feed the babies bottles of milk and I even got to play with a funny little baby chimp who had a diaper on and a sucker in his mouth (see pics below). Wild! The animals, for the most part, are able to roam free on acres and acres of donated land, but they all find their way to the fences when it is feeding time.














Crazy “pets” were running around the place. They had geese, peacocks, turkeys, African Gray Parrots, dozens of little scavenger monkeys and a hippo to hilt. I am not kidding. They have a pet hippo (yes, the animal that kills more people in Africa every year than any other animal on the continent). “Billy” is insanely fat and lethargic and has big whiskers like the bristles on a plastic hair brush.

All in all, a nice way to spend one’s 30th Birthday.

I went with Peter and Cheryl Smith and their two boys Brendan and Jason (the Mennonites from L.A.) and Adrian, my favorite farmer from Cornwall. Adrian’s 50th birthday was on Friday night and Cheryl and I both share May 11, so we ate cake all weekend. Divine.

SPIDER!!!

I’m no expert on arachnids, but I am pretty sure my cat killed a tarantula in my house on Saturday night. Sick. I came home from Teddy and Catherine’s wedding to find Franky playing with what I thought was a wad of black string on the floor, but to my horror, the small heap on my ridiculous red and white checkered linoleum turned out to be a large hairy spider. Disgusting. I don’t like to think of where that little thing had been living before Franky murdered it.


But on a much lighter note, the weekend was lots of fun. My first Zambian wedding was full of dancing and singing and a very, very long sermon (of course). Most of the homily was dedicated to people like me (those that are not married, but should be). Have I mentioned before that I get many strange looks from folks when they find out I am unmarried at “my age”? Amusing.

Chipata, Chipata, Chipata

A sea of yellow daisies float on the golden grass of Zambia’s savannah this time of year. Talk stalks of brown maze whisper and crackle in the breeze. The rainy season is now over and as the bus zigs and zags along the ribbon of tarmac from Lusaka to Kitwe I admire the thatched roofs and mudbrick homes of villages dotting the countryside where women pound maze in mortars, or “Ibende,” and cook nshima over charcoal fires. I prefer the simplicity of rural village life where subsistence farming generally ensures daily food for every person in the community, but I live in the urban Copper Belt where mines provide the money for daily milimeal, consistent electricity, and contribute the constant plume of sulphor dioxide that crowns our heads in town.

The young woman sitting next to me on the bus sang Christian praise songs throughout our journey and occasionally opened her cell phone to check for text messages. “Jesus Saves” was printed in Bemba across the screen and once again I was reminded that Zambia proudly touts itself as a Christian nation. Perhaps, “touts itself” is not fair. A more apt observation: most everyone I talk to here claims to be a Christian. As a Christian from a religiously pluralistic nation I found my mind wandering to the humble mosque in Kitwe that calls its Muslim followers to prayer five times a day. I wonder what they think of being Muslim in a place where Christian pop artists croon love songs to Jesus on the grocery store sound systems and evangelists passionately preach to passengers before every bus departs the Lusaka station? Strange.


















I have a million things to do today and I have run out of time, so please forgive this lame synopsis of the last 2 weeks: went to Chipata to teach for a few days before meeting up with a delightful group from Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church who were meeting with leaders from the Presbyterian church in Harare about a potential partnership and took some time to spend in Eastern Zambia as well. I found myself awkwardly trying to remember exactly how to greet mazungus from home (we shake hands and hug differently in Zambia), so I felt like a big dope as I fumbled with my words and my arms. It was fun to see Zambia through the eyes of new visitors and as I wrote them in a recent email, I am so glad that I get to live here for another 4 months!


P.S. How WASTED do we look here?! The road was bad people. Very bad.

Preacher Girl!

Last night I had 3 friends for dinner: Teddy Sakupapa (SUCH A GREAT SURNAME!!!!), his fiance Cathy and Trust. I made Italian food. My neighbor is growing fresh basil, so I was able to create something semi-authentic. They liked the meat sauce, but weren't a fan of the noodles. This is a mystery to me. Many of my Zam friends eat loads of carbs-- rice, nshima, potatoes--- all in the same meal, but noodles? No way.

I love that any and every event can become an excuse to listen to Rhumba and dance.

North Americans, we should pick up on this. We should dance far more often than we normally do. Notice the chetenge around our wastes? This is also nice. I think it is somehow supposed to make dancing less seductive (for propriety or some such notion), but I think it's just plain festive.




At the last moment I was asked to offer a short devotional to a women's gathering yesterday morning. Now, I was told that this was an informal event, but was encouraged to wear my clerical collar. mmmm, does this look informal to you?!?! This was a 6 hour Bible study. 800 women showed up! Amazing. Most of the service was in Bemba, but there was plenty of dancing and singing, so I was happy as a lark.

Kuomboka Ceremony

The floodplanes of the western province are gorgeous and filled with Lozi fisherman and once a year a whole bunch of tourists from all over the world.

















After a 15 hour bus ride (yes, please insert "cramped" and "uncomfortable" here) we finally made it to Mongu, a small community in the rural Western Province where the Lozi people reside. I joined a bunch of friends (1 Candadian, 1 Namibian, and 5 Norwegians) for a wild weekend. Thousands of Zambians gather, all donning red caps (traditional Lozi color) to celebrate the annual migration of the king.
Yes, king I say. I thought he was a chief, but I guess there is a complex hierarchy of chiefs with one top chief who is referred to as king of the Lozi. A few of us were intereviewed on ZNBC, so yes, I am now a national TV star. Okay, perhaps not a star, but I was still on national TV.

Once a year the Lozi King migrates across the floodplane from the lowlands to his palace (mmmm, I use the term "palace" loosely here). We knelt for every imaginable official. We even knelt for the king's baggage as it was loaded onto the boat.


The king is rowed by about 100 men that use home-made paddles.

















Norwegians are wild. Seriously. What's with Scandanavians? Love them. Every Norwegian I have met (and Swede for that matter) has unending energy and a serious dedication to savoring every second of life. Needless to say, I am tired. We did not sleep a lot.

YouTube Video!!!!

Hi friends. After on of the largest debacles in my life, I found a way to upload a short video about my life for Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church (they were doing a fundraiser on Sunday and wanted to see their “global fellow” in action in Zam). If you want to check it out (about 8 minutes in length), please copy and paste this url (or just search "Carmen in Zambia" on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQ7bbq3fuPc

Scotty is leaving me (pictured left). Not before the Komboka Ceremony (stay tuned for very cool pics and stories), which will be held in the Western Province this weekend. On Saturday we went to Race Course together for the last time (a big dance competition and Peer Education Seminar was held for a bunch of teens). We went with my new friend Sevelen who is from Namibia, but has been working in Zimbabwe for the last year. His NGO sent him to Zambia because of the potential civil unrest that is feared due to the delayed election results.

I love Sevelen (pictured below-- the one on his knees). He uses adjectives in this crazy high-pitched voice that has people in stitches. We were walking to Race Course and stopped by “MEF falls” (which has been an ongoing joke) where we enjoyed the cascading, polluted waters that feed the resovoir where we collect our drinking water.