Stars upon thars

Marissa, me, Max at the Lake o' Stars/ Marissa and me on the beach

Perhaps water is my element. This past week traveling to the Lake of Stars Music Festival, just outside of Mangochi, Malawi proved to me the sanity that water and mountains brings to my life. Exiting Lusaka on thursday we precariously made our way to the boarder of Zambia and Malawi on a windy bus ride that lead through the African bush. Mud huts with thatch roofs speckled the tarmac and the 5 min rests were some of the most relieving of my life.

Our haphazardous crew of Grassroot Soccer characters and new friends successfully arrived in Lilongwe, Malawi on Thursday evening with fake Malawian Kwatcha in hand (many of us exchanged money at the border attempting to receive a better exchange rate, only to find that the oversized cash received was predominately counterfeit- an adventure in the making). Running on little sleep, fried food, and bundles of anticipatory energy we powered through the following day of travel to reach the shored of Lake Malawi.

We were greeted by a sandy beach, palm trees, and a campsite filled with festival goers from around the world. The Lake of Stars festival is sponsored by an organization based out of the UK they pair UK artists with local Malawian and African artists as a way to support Malawian tourism and to disseminate inspiring music to those in attendance. Sleeping and swimming by day, dancing, singing, and clapping by night we spent three days soaking in the sun, water, and of course appreciating the brilliance of the stars- both in the sky and up on stage.

Some highlights:

Watching Oliver , dancing in bare feet every night, watching the Noisettes perform acoustically, sleeping under the stars, Tenache, chicken curry, not looking at my watch for 3 days, enjoying the silence of the water and the freedom of listening to music on a beach.

lowlight:

broken camera.

All in all, Malawi is a gorgeous country with dramatic mountain villages that seem superficially romantic and tangibly isolated. The lake was a solace with a cooling effect; and the music acted as its quintessential partner providing the perfect soundtrack to the break we all needed.

Helen from Kalikiliki.

Saturday was filled with another VCT Challenge Day in the compound of Kalikiliki. Sounds like the name of an exotic island, right?! Indeed for the day it felt like an island. Insanely hot and dusty we awoke bright and early; a day of 37 degree Celsius (100 degrees) and over 800 meat pies awaited us. We successfully pulled off the event. People set-up, tested, danced (duh), and ate, amazingly enough. Here is one brief snapshot from the day:

Helen, a sturdy woman from Kalikiliki lost her husband 2 and a half years ago. He died of a “sickness.” She approached me confidently, her English choppy and expressive. “I am nervous to get tested. I don’t have a boyfriend.” An onslaught of neurons firing peppered my brain but the most overwhelming was that of pure excitement- this woman wanted to be tested and was asking for a stepping stone; someone to show a glimmer of hope, confidence, and I think above else, approval. I asked her if she’d like me to walk with her to one of our testing partners, Marie Stopes, and she accepted my offer. We moseyed over, her baby on her back and her 3 others close behind. I left her there, per her request. Twenty minutes before the event ended she found me, caught up in the logistical chaos of clean-up and proclaimed her status, negative. The same status blanketed the whole family- safe, confident, and empowered.

Helen is why I will happily work Saturday events for the next 6 weeks. Helen is proof as to why why Grassroot Soccer needs to exist. Helen is one more woman who knows her status and who set an inspiring example for her children. Helen is...remarkable and I will eternally be proud of her.

Twin Palms- the road home

Tonight I am spending my first night under a mosquito net. Half of me feels claustrophobic, a quarter of me feels poetic, and in reality I feel (yes, feel) like I can relate to animals in the zoo. Stuck inside a box, confined and baffled. How does such a tiny bug make for all this hullabaloo? As I was draping it around my bed, finding that not all the corners tuck in just right, trying to anticipate the late night hemophiliacs strategy at getting to me, I find myself chuckling at my insistent personification of a mosquito. Like the poor thing is out to get me...most likely he isn't and in the chance that he is I have a mosquito net covering me and a bright blue malaria pill to take at 8 am tomorrow morning that should render my being safe for now.

October is HOT but beautiful. I live on a road called Twin Palms road. Apparently our side of the road was just paved. About a week ago I walked out the gate to find that the paved road had recently received dotted lines. Stunning for a country with few traffic laws. Dotted lines were being speckled up an down the road by men dabbing bits of paint in a sequential order based on the chord that was laid out perfectly. Anyway back to the road. At Twin Palms genesis there is a sharp and blind curve, one that I relish and habitually make racing sounds as I pass through it. As you continue on the road, I am distracted by the beauty. Red, purple, orange, pink, green, and an occasional yellow paint the road and distract from it. Instant serenity and imagination take hold of me for the 3 minutes or so that I coast down Twin Palms. It is by far my favorite road in Lusaka so far. It is mysterious, with houses fenced in with no sign of their stature apart from the vines and flowers that overhand the walls and say "screw you" to the broken glass and barbed wire that keeps those out and those in. Nature at its best, refusing to be limited.

Off to sleep- Kamba says goodnight as she twitches next to my bed. Tonight she is granted the rare occasion of sleeping inside. Peace.

Mosi-oa-tunya. The Smoke that Thunders.

On Saturday morning I woke up, packed my backpack and walked out the front gate into my friend Jamie’s car, a red Toyota that would take Max, Jamie, Brandon, and I on an adventure to Victoria Falls. Partnered by an impromptu playlist we drove out of Lusaka and said good-bye at a bright 0730 in the morning. Sang a little Lion King and focused hard on the road ahead because one battle with a pot hole would have left us deserted, hitchhiking back to the closest town, a true African Adventure. All in all we arrived in Livingstone in one piece, checked into a serene hostel, grabbed some food and headed out towards the falls. As you approach the falls from the footpath you can hear them, feel the humidity increase, and sense a mighty force. Currently the dry season is upon us and the geology of the falls is what baffles the eye rather than the influx of water. Little waterfalls descend rapidly from a cliff and create a mist of rainbows and “smoke” that then fades into a raging river. It’s glorious and powerful- erosion at its best. I could have spent all day just looking at the falls, taking photos that hardly match the picture in my head.

We headed back into Livingstone to cool down and relax before hitting up the Royal Livingstone, very royal indeed, for drinks and the sun set. The Royal Livingstone is one of those places that seems timeless and like a timewarp all at the same time. You feel clean and sophisticated when you walk in and I found myself sitting up straight and drinking a drink with Brandy in it (hahaha, when in Africa). Sunset was red as always, but had a coolness to it because of the river-the Zambezi-speckled with flocks of birds overhead, that looked more like swarms, and a hippo breaching in the water. It’s odd to see the animals from the zoo in the wild- they seem tame and it is easy to misjudge their veracity. Baboons lurked on the path we took the next day down to the boiling point- where the falls cauldron themselves into the Zambezi- lots of swimming, watching rafters flip, good times. We hiked along the top of the falls that afternoon, looked over the edge, and more swimming. The water was perfect. After a day in the sun we drove home to Lusaka. A stunning 48 hours.

finally PHOTOS!!!

The virgin VCT

Days and weeks fly by here. They pass so quickly I hardly find chance to process, pause, and breathe them in. There is an awful lot to breath in. Good and bad, carcinogenic and organic, familiar and foreign. I wanted to put the days events down before they escape their raw, fresh, and under-processed purity. Today was a day that can only be characterized by dirt, dance, and over 300 people tested for HIV- a complete success and pure sense of pride for those who organized the event.

Let me just explain what a VCT event is. GRS has created an event that centers around getting people excited about testing for HIV and then actually having them do it and be supported in doing it. In conjunction with providing free, mahala, HIV testing our partners provide family guidance counseling, information on male circumcision, and birth control services to all those that attend. The focus is on providing holistic care to those who seek it, and for GRS getting the youth tested, educated, and treated if deemed necessary. On top of all the noise associated with testing we provide entertainment, activities, and music to all those in attendance. A mad house of smiles, curiosity, greed, generosity, and humility encompass the event and showed me some moments of pure humanity.

Smiles. Hundreds of children came rushing into the event and traveled in a swarm to and from every direction. A rumor would fizzle through the crowd and they would be off. Jumping onto a moving vehicle, surrounding a mzungu (white person) who had a red ribbon that they wanted, mobbing the celebrity, a tv star from a local Zambian soap opera, or fighting-literally fighting- to be part of the circle that would play host to the next GRS activity all were premised by a blob of children ebbing and flowing to the said location-a chaotic norm. I was so surprised to find how quickly children are willing to sit down next to a complete stranger, how they stare at that which is different (namely me), and how no matter if they are falling down, singing, fighting, yelling, dancing, or giving some one a hug throughout the day they were smiling. Smiles that radiate and remind you of something, something different every time but something human and vital. There were points throughout the day where I thought that the mob could erupt into a violent and uncontrollable mess, but it never did. There is order, I just don't quite understand it yet.

Curiosity. We arrived at our site, the Kizito Basic School in George Compound, a few hours late and began setting up. From my initial steps out of the car and onto the school grounds I was aware of how many people were "watching" me all day long. I know I stand out, purely for the color of my skin, but I always just assumed that all me and my skin warranted was a quick glance and comment and then I would fade into an afterthought. How wrong was I, this was absolutely not the case here. Children followed me around all day. I would pause to ask a coach a logistical question and a school of children would quickly form a circle around us and simply stare and watch. It must be like waiting for water to boil, waiting for a mzungu to do something. Honestly I did nothing special today-I walked, I talked, I ate, I danced, and I got tested (I am negative by the way!!!!). Nevertheless anytime I took 2 seconds pause a crowd formed. At one point my hair became the object of desire and at least 50 little hands reached out to touch/grab/trample...I can't blame them for being curious, and I can't blame me for having to be harsh and say "no," but I have to reveal that the irony of their curiosity is that I think I am more curious about what they think I am going to do when they wait for me to do something.

Greed. I say "no" so many times a day I feel like I am a 2 year old trapped in a time-warp of the terrible twos. I was asked over 100 times today for my pen, my t-shirt, and my bracelet and I was not once offered anything for them or in return for them. A strange expectation, which has roots based in many issues and facts of life, that has made me more savvy and aware of how to handle an intense desire for everything I have. Learning to say "NO!" I don't like saying no, and I immediately think that I am being insensitive and selfish but I've heeded quickly that you can't give to everyone and in that case you cannot give to anyone. Turning the question around and posing, "well, what are you going to give me?" has been the most effective phrase of my life. "No" doesn't allow anyone to think about what they are asking for, the question forces more than a "yes" or "no" response and holding your ground...well, that is priceless.

Generosity. I walked into a classroom today and found 2 groups of 10 or so boys huddled around a table with 2 of our GRS coaches. Maintaining my distance I aptly eavesdropped for a moment to find that these coaches had taken it upon themselves to seek out these boys, discuss girls, condoms, condom usage, abstinence, and male circumcision to them. Coaches organize the event, manage it, and orchestrate much of the flow and essence of the day but are not asked to counsel...these boys did and it was intense and surreal to see. It wasn't unexpected of them, but it also wasn't expected in this venue...I am daily floored by the passion and generosity, of themselves and their time, that these coaches give to their communities. Intimacy in a form that I will never give, nor should I, that I know lead many of these boys to think a bit harder about decisions they've made and will make.

Humility. I had to dance in front of a crowd, with a tv celebrity, all whilst wearing a scarf around my hip area and having children scamper up to put 50 and 100 kwatcha (the currency of Zambia) into my make-shift belt. Cultural relevance is very important here. My initial feeling was insane fear. I love to dance, but I like to dance best when everyone else is around me focusing on their dance moves and not mine. I also love to push my boundaries and so after a few minutes I let go a bit more and did a bit of solo dancing but then realized that I am in much need of practice. A woman from one of the women's groups that we work with offered to teach me how to dance- that is how bad I was, I think I embarrassed even her. The most awkward and humbling moment came when these children, whom have little came up and began giving me money. First off they were stuffing it into my belt and pockets and my first thought was, "huh, this must be what it feels like to be a stripper." and my second thought was, "this is a cultural norm, they are praising me with all that they have and I can't even dance!!!" I was confused and nervous, flattered and suspicious all at the same time and in the end I was just humbled. Humbled to have been given the honor of dancing with a celebrity, humbled to have been deemed worth of a few kwacha, and humbled enough to laugh at myself.

A successful day. Over 300 individuals were tested, multiple boys and men were referred to a clinic for circumcision, many women received birth control and I met a face that will stay with me eternally. Innocent is his name. We went to a school to recruit students to come during the past week and this boy was in one of the classes. Today he sought me out, thanked me for coming to his class, told me about his testing experience, told me about his family, opened his world to me...I am excited to see and hear what great things he does in his life. A big day, one that will now conclude in sleep.

Thank you again to all who have donated, literally you are all keeping me sane. Please share this blog and the GRS story with others. I will be fundraising throughout the year and love to talk about Zambia, GRS, and everything in between so please write if you have questions or just want to say hello. Much love from Lusaka. peace

Meheba; a ten hour bus ride to the bush

Pretty well rested and back from the bush for the second day in a row I am settling into life back in Lusaka. For the past week (Monday to Sunday) I was up North. Traveling through the Copper Belt and up to the Northern capital, Solowezi, I found myself removed from all the familiar and at 11:30 at night entering a refugee camp with a rickety bar for a gate- very official. My first trip to Meheba had begun. It should be coined the place of logistical nightmares, or the place where I successfully butchered my first chicken, or perhaps the place where the song "Hold ya" will forever play to a new tune in my head.

Meheba is a refugee camp in the northern part of the country. The project that I assist is funded by a grant from the UNHCR and allows GRS to implement its curriculum on two refugee camps. It is a privileged opportunity and a blessing that we are still able to maintain contacts and a commitment to the community up there. I have not witnessed a place more worthy of the cause and the education that GRS provides. In Lusaka you find that schools, community centers, religious centers, the media, and the government are far more educated, open, and have accurate information about HIV/AIDS and all of the research, knowledge, and prevention surrounding the epidemic. In Meheba the myths are alive and questions go unanswered with little outlet for response. While they hear news and some are up to speed via the radio and some internet access, most know bits and pieces and rely on imagination and others to fill in the gaps.

For three days I assisted in a Training of Coaches, as we call it here, where we mentored the coaches on subjects of praise, vital conversations, making personal connections, and of course dancing every hour or so. I remember my third day sitting in the room of about 26 or so coaches, all with roots in places like Angola, Congo, Rwanda, etc and feeling completely flabbergasted and humbled by the fact that I, no one special, was allowed and respected in this community. It is just so strange to me that a month and a little bit ago I didn't know any of this existed and I had no idea as to just how honored I would feel to be in the presence of people with epic, tragic, and very real stories to tell.

The settlement of Meheba is a settlement, it isn't the camp that you concoct when you imagine a refugee camp. There are not many tents, mainly houses made out of the bricks of the earth and a base layer of cement. There are thatch woven roofs and perhaps four independently running vehicles in the entire camp. The UN of course has vehicles but are extremely busy currently. The Zambian government runs and is highly present in the camp of Meheba and recently the government has been under a push to repatriate refugees in certain settlements and those that do not wish to repatriate are being moved to Meheba. Thus the settlement grows and the vehicles are occupied. So we road around, when they showed up, in the back of many flat bed trucks, on the bumpiest "roads" that I have ever been on. I think I have more bruises on my butt than any other part of my body-but well worth the adventure to see the camp.

It is a rural camp, lots of trees, reeds, a few streams, and chickens and goats running around everywhere. Even Guinea Hens...! I cannot escape them. So on our last night in Meheba one of our coaches gifted us a chicken- a village chicken, a very distinct difference-and I was the one to cut its neck. A strange moment, met with many gitters but I feel accomplished. And they really do twitch, even after the head has been severed. I ate the gizzards and the liver, dressed it, cooked it, ate it, felt like I should have blessed it...it was a memory none the less.

As for now I am home again, back in Lusaka. I have to say it was nice to come home to a familiar place and to familiar faces. All these people, Max, Marissa, Spaik, Zales, Tommy, Lena, and the office really are turning into my family and I have to admit I missed them all over the week. Getting back into office work now. I want to share a few more stories about the camp but will have to do so later as the post is getting a bit rambly.