Anyhow most things seem to be running smoothly. I'm settling in with Mercy, who is pretty much the complete opposite of me, but lovely. She is teaching me to cook various Zambia dishes, although I'm not a very good student as she is discovering. She was shocked when I said that boiling water for cup-a-soup was cooking!
This is one dish where I actually managed to help in the preparation of - versash - which is pounded groundnuts cooked with either chiwawa (pumpkin leaves) or rape. Its a fairly lengthy process - first you have to pound the nuts (as you can see me doing - this part I was very good at), then sieve the nuts so that it comes out as a fine powder, then boil with leaves, tomatoes and onion. Then served with a big helping of nishima. It tastes pretty good actually. You may be wondering what rape is - if you look it up in a dictionary it is apparently fodder grown for cattle (according to Jenny - her school has 3 dictionaries, mine has none). This is what I eat pretty much daily - hahaha. For cow food it tastes pretty good, if you add enough seasoning.
The past two weeks we've had two different events to brighten things up. The first was dance4life, which is another part of SPW International. A group of ex-vols tours the country (and the same happens in other SPW countries) teaching messages about HIV/AIDS, STIs, teenage pregnancy and that kind of thing, using dance and drama to attract the pupils attention. This works especially well in Zambia as EVERYONE from babies to grannies love dancing and loud music.
The dance4life bus - Zambia style!
Then this week we had an in-school non-funded event on HIV prevention. It was pretty hectic to organize as most of the teachers weren't that keen to be involved, and only 1/3 of staff turned up for the day, but in the end it all worked out, as it always seems to here. Our AIDS Action Club performed a drama about sexual abuse of a pupil by a teacher, with a good dose of HIV, teen pregnancy and prostitution thrown in. Most of the teachers just found it really funny, but the sad truth is that it is a reality here even in a basic school. Something that would be seen a completely abnormal behaviour in the UK is just one of those things here. At our opening staff briefing the head mistress warned male teachers not to be sleeping with the female pupils, even suggesting that they should go to the prostitutes in the bars in the township instead, and that they knew where to find them. Worryingly one of the senior teachers offered to take anyone who didn't know where to find a whore. Given that only 2 or 3 of the male teachers aren't married it makes me squirm.
Grade 9s acting out sexual abuse by a teacher
The rest of the event was taken up with debate from the older pupils, poems, songs and cultural dances by the younger grades, who are hilarious but absolutely amazing dancers.
Grades 2s and 3s doing traditional Zambian dancing
Another traditional Zambian dance apparently, which all the pupils went wild for and ended up chasing round and round the school. 400 mental pupils and just me trying to get them to sit down again, while the other teachers looked on and sipped their coke - typical!
While we've been busy with events the importance of our work has really hit home. Sometimes you can be working away and forget the reason for being here, or overlook the suffering of those you live among because you have to dig deep to see it. People can seem to have relatively good lives, they have a running tap nearby, they have electricity, a TV, a sound system. They eat pretty basic food, but they don't go hungry. But in the past week I have seen too may funeral houses to count. You can hear the screams of the wailing women all the way down the street. You see the trucks drive by to the cemetery every day, again full of wailing women howling. Most of these people being buried aren't in their 70s or 80s, they are the young generation of teenagers, 20-somethings and young parents. Last Friday one of my grade 9 pupils, Ruth, died. Nobody can really explain why. Some teachers said an STI, another told me she had a growth on her leg. But nobody really questions why a teenager just falls ill and dies a few days later. It just seems to be a fact of life.
Not that going to hospital seems like a much better idea than staying at home when you fall sick. One of our teachers has been in hospital for the past week, apparently with headache and low BP. I have no idea what the problem is, but he looks pretty bad on it. The ward is small and crammed with beds, with hardly room to pass between them. The crowding situation isn't helped by the number of visitors round each bed, each on trying to poke and prod the patient, sit him up, lie him down, feed him, give him some water, put a flannel on his head. All very well meaning, but not helpful. And not a nurse or doctor to be seen. With only 600 doctors in the whole of Zambia, with a population of over 12 million, a doctor is something of a rarity. I guess its no wonder that people are dropping like flies.
On a slightly lighter note, this weekend in LSK has been a welcome break from Mumbwa life. Going to the cinema to see the new Sex and the City movie was the icing on the cake - I couldn't get further away from the outings of Carrie and the girls. I think 'rough' would be the kindest way to describe my current state - I just don't know how anyone stays looking anything like normal here. Dust is unavoidable, and it sticks to my face, hair and feet like I'm a dust magnet. My journey to LSK didn't help matters, it was more like a mobile farm than a bus. Shoved under my seat were two goats, who stank to high heaven and spent the three hours making a racket. I would have too if I'd been sat on by me. Then under the seat in front there seemed to be an audition for Chicken Run - about 20 chickens were tied up, but making determined efforts to escape and peck my feet. I tried to be brave and didn't scream, but Zambians just don't get my chicken phobia.
I have also adopted another Zambian style of dressing which relegates me to the grandpa stage of fashion sense - yes I have given in to the socks and flipflips. I'm ashamed to admit it, but in Zambia its considered completely normal and no one bats an eye. Please, when I get home can someone remind me this is NOT acceptable behaviour.
So for the moment that's it, back to Mumbwa for another few weeks. While most of the time the situation there is depressing if you over think, there are moments when it appears to be the most beautiful and peaceful place in the world. I guess it just depends where you are looking from.
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