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And
the horror of peeking through cupped hands as the guts are removed, and
secretly wondering whether God is hinting at a life of vegetarianism.
The end result was quite tasty and not unlike lamb. But the visions
of the slaughter did not leave the mind’s eye during the consumption, which
was somewhat disconcerting. Along with the goat (and all other meals we
had with Zambians) was the staple food of nshima, which is ground maize
and water stirred into a thick porridge-like consistency. It sits
on your plate in a heap, allowing you to pick up a handful, roll it around,
and then use it to pick up the other foods on your plate (we had it on
separate occasions with chicken, beans, cabbage, etc.). It got all
over me, but as a novice I am okay with that.The taste is delicious.
The after-effects
are not as pleasing, as “nshima-pain” and “nshima-constipation” became
regular explanations of extended visits to the bathroom. There is the excitement
of picking mangoes fresh off a tree and eating it for breakfast. The vivid
yellow meat of the fruit has the sweetest, most succulent flavor that makes
you want to close your eyes to savor the moment as the juice drips down
your chin. There is the nervousness that strikes as you get bitten by a
mosquito as you fear it may be carrying Malaria. Or the annoyance of waking
up in the middle of the night inadvertently wrapped up in the mosquito
net. Or sleepily trying to probe under the mosquito net in the morning
to turn off the alarm clock. Or apprehensively hearing the talk in the
town announcing that a black mamba snake was spotted.
What about
driving through a game reserve and feeling the rush of amazement that comes
from seeing giraffes walking casually across the dirt road before you.
Or feeling eternally grateful for rangers with big guns that allow you
to stand beside three rhinos as a photo op. Or seeing a mother warthog
and her little babies tripping along behind her.Or the gazelles, the baboons,
the water buffalo, the exotic birds, the hippo in the river yawning in
the light of the sunset. You sit inside the Land Cruiser flabbergasted.
Or the outdoor markets like North Meade or Soweto where you can buy clothes,
shoes, carvings, or food or even go to a witch doctor. The natives
create amazing carvings of animals, people, masks, the list goes on forever.
You have to haggle, which is an art in itself, learning how low to go,
how to lower your voice and treat the salesman like he is your best friend
(an art Steven and I have yet to perfect). You can buy food, like dried
beans, tomatoes, onions, or tiny dried fish like capenta. Or a cow head.
Or intestines. Or pretty much any animal part. The smell necessitates
a strong stomach.
The shoes,
clothes, bed linen, etc., at the markets comes from the West. When
westerners donate items to organizations like CARE, the items are sent
to Kenya where they are bound extremely tightly into bundles by category;
ie, shirts in one bundle, shoes in another, bed spreads in another, and
so on. Then those bundles are sent to Lusaka where the local people
can buy a bundle and sell the contents in their market stall. This
system is more effective than simply giving away the donated clothing,
because it allows the natives to earn a living as opposed to being dependent
upon the West. Very often in Zambia you revisit that timelessly wise
teaching: catch a fish for a man and feed him for a day; teach a man to
fish and feed him for a lifetime. This is relevant to many aspects
of western influence on Zambian life, from health education, farming, and
the buying/selling of goods. I visited a witch doctor at Soweto Market
to see what it would be like.Considering my studies in complementary medicine
I wanted to see if there was any relevance. There wasn’t. But if you need
a love potion or to put a curse on someone who stole your bike I know where
to send you.
How about the
delight on native children’s faces as they are invited into Jason’s living
room to watch “The Fox and the Hound” on New Year’s Eve while the adults
are chatting around the bonfire. Or the look on their faces as they
try Kool-Aid for the first time. There is so much going on in their
heads that remains a mystery to me. Their mud hut homes are the size
of our UK bathroom, so what are the children thinking when they enter Jason’s
three-bedroom, two-bathroom, large ranch-style home? Or when they
see lights, toilets, and running water?
The children
are eminently polite, so quiet and well-behaved, sometimes even curtseying
during introductions. On New Year’s Eve as the kids became tired
they did not whine or cry or pull at their mothers chitengas (large pieces
of cloth worn as skirts and also used to carry around babies), but rather
they all curled up together on the straw mat beside the fire and slept.
They took care of each other – six-year-olds carrying around their little
brothers and sisters on their backs in their own little chitengas.
How do you
describe Mrs Chindalo, a kind-hearted villager who has a field called the
‘orphan field.’The field supports AIDS orphans. Parents die of AIDS
and leave children behind. Children may then live with their grandparent(s),
but then the two most vulnerable pockets of society are left to care for
each other. If children need to work all day to feed the family, then they
don’t go to school. If they don’t go to school they have little chance
for a future.So the ‘orphan field’ helps by producing a crop; this year
it is soybeans. Many people contribute their time and energy to make
the field succeed. When the crop is harvested a portion goes to feed
the families of the orphans, and the rest is sold to raise money so the
orphans can go to school, get a uniform, buy school books. The people
take care of each other, and it is beautiful. We have so much and
are ungrateful. They have nothing and exude graciousness.
The seven of
us helped to plant soybeans. With handmade hoes. Now we pray
for the rains that are already tardy. If the rains don’t come there will
be a famine in six months. But if the villagers are worried they
don’t show it. Throughout the trip was the undercurrent of sharing new
experiences with people that were once strangers and became good friends.
That pleasure is not to be overlooked. A huge personal accomplishment was
managing all of our vaccines as well as Malaria prevention with homeopathic
remedies. The only shot we got was for Yellow Fever in case they
asked us for proof of inoculation. But all the others (Tetanus, Diphtheria,
Hepatitis, Meningitis, Typhoid, Polio) I read up on and got the remedies
in the UK. I came up with a schedule of when to take what, plus I
got numerous immune system strengtheners like garlic pills and Echinacea.
We were a walking pharmacy of holistic remedies, but we didn’t get sick
at all. It feels really good to put my teachings into practice and have
us come out of it with positive results. And incredible memories.
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There
are some experiences in life that you cradle in a special place in your
heart. Not for risk of forgetting them, but quite the opposite,
in wanting new perspectives to be carried within you with hopes of always
appreciating what you have done and seen.
