Today.

A day of driving, running, spacing out, and all together a typical day in the life of a GRS intern. It needed to be documented. Places to see and people to meet. Nothing sensational but rarely an experience paralleled.

I awoke to the horrific sound of cat’s attacking each other in our living room. There is this notorious black and white cat, with insanely freaky blue eyes, that frequents our house. More appropriately he frequents our pantry and torments our cat. The sound is one of death and at 3 or 4 in the morning my brain is in no state to process nor function. Anyway…I darted to the living room smacked the table and the problem was solved.

So I have this routine of waking up and making coffee. We have a French press and it is the first thing I do every morning. Make coffee, feed dog, walk to 10 feet to the office.

Since the new year my position has placed me “out in the field.” I love saying this because it makes me feel like I am really bush-whacking it and like I am doing something important. Not that what I do isn’t important, all I am suggesting is the power of language and phrasing to mislead (nothing nobody didn’t know already). But what being in the field has done a few things. I now know almost all of our 60+ coaches names, can speak more Nyanja, and I am getting a sick tan. Ha!

Being in the field has taken me to new parts of Lusaka. Compounds where Muzungu’s hardly ever exist. There are days where being the celebrity of the neighborhood lifts my spirits and other days where I feel like I am the freak. Today I felt a satisfying mixture of the two. Venturing to Matero (about a 30-40 minute drive from the office) we visited Nelson Mandela School. A beautiful ground perched atop a hill. Rarely are you able to get some altitude in Lusaka so it is nice to see what is around you. We arrived early to visit our coaches so Hildah (my M&E partner in crime) and I walked down to the market to buy popcorn and ground nuts (peanuts). As we were purchasing popcorn this gentleman beelined right up to me…darting across the market to talk to the crazy lady buying popcorn. He proceeded to walk with us as we went to buy ground nuts and then all of a sudden chaos of criticism bolted at me from all ends. First, women aren’t supposed to buy ground nuts because of all the protein that they have. Only fit for a man, of course, because women don’t need protein cuz we don’t have semen. So that set me ablaze, then I was in shorts and all the mama’s selling their vegetables, ground nuts, etc. got mad at me for not being in chitenge (fabric that everyone wears). It was a strange dichotomy. I wasn’t angry, just exacerbated. I just always find myself asking…”aren’t there bigger problems than what I am wearing and who eats what?” But I think I ask those questions everywhere…not just in Zambia and not just in Matero.

I made it back to the school in one piece and relatively calm. Popcorn in one hand, ground nuts in the other. As we walked through the school towards the classroom of grade 8s who are participating in our curriculum this cycle, I noticed many colorful paintings on the sides of the walls. On e of which was the reproductive system. We can never talk about sex, but we can place the anatomy on the siding of a school. Oh Zambia how I love you!

Introducing myself to the eager eyes of students is always an adventure. I’ve learned basic Nyanja and always practice on the students. This time I was applauded. I felt so proud of myself. I know my accent is terrible and I mess up every time, but the Grade 8s at Nelson Mandela School have eternally worked their ways into my heart for their sincerity and encouragement.

What a day. Up, down, emotionally and physically on the bumpy roads of Lusaka that we drive on and, realistically, survive daily.

I shall attempt to balance myself out, until tomorrow.

Compost and bottle caps, when recycling doesn’t exist- make art:

Trash exists everywhere. One of my first memories is of the smell…burning rubbish smogging the sky and my nasal passages. A week’s worth of burning plastic bags, organic material, paper, food, and all manner of other things was enough to convince me to reduce my waste. However, you find that as you live here longer, the smell is customary, and the sight of trash in astonishing places no longer surprises (as shameful as that is to admit). We are however fortunate. There is a private (that is right, any removal of trash is privatized…a lucrative business I would think but no one has jumped on just yet) rubbish collection service that passes by our wall on Tuesday mornings to remove the trash that we produce.

Recently through a deep-cleaning effort we disposed of years of paperwork, trash, and miscellaneous items with the hopes of starting off the new year in a spirit of tidiness, efficiency, and above all else clarity.

On the other half of the compound…our home, there is trash produced at a rapid rapid rate. Between the 5 of us (lena, mike spiak, marissa, max, and myself) we produce a lot of trash. We all love to cook, be creative with our meals, and often find that our over ambitious spirits lead us to over purchase on vegetables, leaving us with a vast supply of peels, rinds, egg shells, rotten tomatoes, and potatoes sprouting foreign objects. All these factors contributed to the birth of recyclable art and recyclable earth.

Project ideas sprung up. The first to be put into action was the digging of a hole. A hole that is now home to a hot bed (literally all the organic material produces heat as it rots) of compost, insects, and the occasional plastic bag. Turned over once or twice a week the rains and the numerous leaves that fall from the trees overhead consolidate into fertile earth that is making out mango, papaya, and avocado tree smile. Next step is to interwork that compost into a tomato, cabbage, and flower garden.

Project number two began a while ago with a collection of bottle caps. This is an ongoing affair with collection. Bottle caps drunk are cared for and will serve as a memento of the 2010-2011 intern class in Zambia. The idea is to hammer out the bottle caps and screw them into a wood table. They will assemble to form Africa. Mosi caps (the local Zambian brew) will facilitate the construction of ZAMBIA!!!

Project three was a spontaneous exercise in nostalgia. Growing up fall was always the time to seek out the most colorful leaves, place them between 2 pieces of wax paper, and iron them together…natural stained glass. I did much of the same process only I attempted to make shapes, in the form of animals, out of vegetation. A giraffe and an elephant were what transpired, and for a first attempt I am pleased.

Constantly finding amusements to work both sides of the brain and in some respects, the earth.

Food! Obrigada.

Until now I have neglected to entertain one of my favorite topics…food, a subject of which at the very least 45% of my brain power goes towards daily. A main activity and source of energy exertion during my holiday, and life in general, was deciding where to eat, when to eat, and finally, what to eat.

Since the coast was calling my name in every way shape and form it seemed only appropriate to immerse myself in all things seafood, with the daily exception of a cup of coffee. In Durban it was chicken wings the first night…I know this isn’t seafood, but chicken wings are one of my favorite foods and having not had them (being too lazy to make them) it was a welcomed appetizer to the 2 weeks of fish oil overdosing.

Next came the salmon pasta in Durban, kudu bunny chow, prawns on pizza in Coffee Bay, more GIANT prawns in Port St. John’s, smoked salmon pizza, chicken bunny chow, fish market fillet…now this I must explain.

Maputo, Mozambique is known for their fish market; a smelly venue that is lines with crabs, fish in shades of pink and red that range from ruby to translucent, and of course, prawns! We ventured out with our friend, Joel, to the fish market…making our way through the fading stalls we selected our fish and our prawns and set out to find the stand that would fry us up some peri-peri (their version of spicy-spicy) prawns and fish for us. We selected a small venue, coined with its plastic lawn furniture and a powder green paint job we took our seats and passed over our purchase of 3 and a half minutes prior. The dueña of the shop and her helpers struggled to figure out the English instructions we relayed to them. Submitting we figured that they know best. And they did! A feast, fit for more than the 3 of us was brought to our table and aptly devoured.

Mozambique continued to be a quest of eating. Prawns, fish, peri-peri chicken, cashews, mangos…delicious vacation. And finally we revisited our trusty Mugg & Bean (Lusaka is getting one soon, look out!) for some coffee and quiche.

Kilograms gained: who cares?!

I can transdanzzzz better than you (with a little help from Tipo Tinto)

Upon exit from the three-storied Johannesburg airport we ventured to find a bus to Maputo, Mozambique with fortunate success. Arriving in Maputo we ate well (fish markets are a new guilty pleasure), slept, and headed to Tofo. Turn-around time 22 hours. Neglecting sleep, odd hours, and lacking in hygiene we arrived in Tofo, Mozambique-paradise.

After sprinting into the Indian Ocean, soaking up the salt and sand and clear blue water, I took in my surroundings. The curved beach transcended into the saline sea of pure blue and in shoulder deep water I could still make out the details of my feet. As you walk along the sand it squeaks and shade is a coveted luxury. The 10 yard dash from my towel to the ocean was the extent of my exercise for the week and a pure act of survival. By 8:00am the sand was ablaze, radiating heat (now I know how the gentlemen who walk on coals feel).

Tofo is known for its diving, snorkeling, and its adolescent male whale sharks (say that 10 times fast). Before the mad rush of New Years traffic, we booked our spot on the ocean safari. Cruising out to sea on an orange boat we soared and sank with the swells. Safari spotting: dolphins, manta ray, the reef, and one 5 meter whale shark! Snorkeling for the first time in my life, let alone alongside a whale shark with spots like a leopard, the swagger of a gangster, and the personality of chilled out surf bum I was able to coast parallel to his pathway exploring his fins, tale, spots, and overall rhythm of life. Still a skeptic of their docile nature the experience was nothing short of surreal and mesmerizing.

The rest of the days were spent sleeping in, walking to get coffee, reading and writing, sitting in the sun, sipping cocktails, dancing, swimming, starring, and meeting the most eclectic and joyous people alive.

New Year’s Eve is a spectacle in Tofo. The crowds pour in from the surrounding areas and mayhem ensues. I almost got squashed by an ATV about 20 times. Running around the beach, toasting with Tipo Tinto (the mozambiquen rum that runs $1.50), dancing, and admiring and dogging the many fireworks that were lit…all in all a lovely night filled with good friends, stars, and a fresh new year.

Leaving Tofo was a somber moment. Excitement for getting back home mixed with a sadness of leaving the relaxing feeling of vacation colored the exit from Mozambique then to Johannesburg (yes, again) and finally to the Lusaka International Airport. Home.

Is it? Adventures along the Wild Coast of South Africa

This will be the first post in a series of three that attempts to encapsulate my 2 ½ week bonanza around Southern Africa for the 2010 holiday season. Armed with a backpack, bathing suit, map, my travel partner, Maxime, and boundless energy we hit the road, or rather the sky on December 19^th, 2010. Rather than bore you all with a play-by-play itinerary here are a few snapshots of the beauty that is the wild coast of South Africa and the blessing that was my vacation:

Coffee bay, South Africa. Coffee Bay is a backpacker’s haven and with a name like that it definitely put a spring in my step…I was ready to rock n’ roll, naturally this meant hiking. There is a trail that follows the jagged coast from the town of Coffee Bay to a “hole in the wall,” a rock formation that happens upon you as you emerge from an overgrowth of trees. Cliffs and rough seas characterize the landscape of the hike, with the trail appearing and disappearing every so often allowing you to feel as though you are exploring the rolling hills that morph into cliffs and fall into the ocean. In front and behind no one is in sight, until you happen upon a beach. A small stretch of pristine sand with donkeys or cows who have staked their claim to the prime tanning spots long before you even had a moment to think about laying out for the day. Two or three of these beaches intermittently emerge as you come to The Hole. The “hole in the wall” is stunning. The water crashes against the rock and bellows within the open-ended cave (the hole) that it has eroded (did I mention that erosion is the best natural force there is!!!) within a wall of rock that exists about 15 meters out to sea. Appreciating the power that is the sea and the majesty of the natural purity we relaxed in the sun, snapped some photos, and rejoiced in our freedom.

Port St. Johns, South Africa. Where the river meets the sea there is a doodle. As if someone, God presumably, took his brush and decided ok here is where the river running brown ends and the deep ocean blue begins. An aerial view provides a fine brushstroke squiggle of brown and blue that inclines you to imagine what is going on beneath the surface. Port St. Johns is an eclectic mix of brown and blue, resort and rustic, obvious and hidden, prawns and smoothies. A spot filled with health and hours lounging at the beach.

Durban, South Africa. Bunny Chow. Three guesses to tell me what it is…Strike 1, Strike 2, Strike 3- your out, but only because you didn’t get to eat Bunny Chow in the Bunny Chow capital of the world. Durban has the highest population of Indians in the world, therefore they obviously have some of the best Indian Curry in the world. This is exactly what Bunny Chow is, except that it is curry stuffed into half a loaf of bread. Delicious! This was our Christmas Day meal and it was the perfect partner to the rainy day. Post Bunny Chow, the Botanical Gardens seasoned our palates. Colors bursted forth from pots, ponds, and perches…and the orchids, SO many orchids living a happy life. The culture of a garden is always elegant and dainty. You are weary of where you step, careful to appreciate each any every plant. I welcome the active consciousness of the world around you- the tiny oasis amidst concrete and pavement.

For now I will leave you in the Johannesburg airport at the Mugg & Bean on the 2^nd floor. This international airport has weaseled its way into my memory box and will eternally be the place that I spent the night on Christmas Day.

Circuit Breakers

Power and internet are 2 hot commodities in Zambia. The office eats away at our internet bandwidth, our house looses power, and the hot water heater seems to switch our stove’s capacity on and off every time we try to take a shower. The electronics of our house are mediocre and a maze that I cannot decipher nor wish to decipher. Our electrician, Joe, is a regular in our house and all in all I have suddenly become thankful that a fully equipped kitchen exists in our office that is 10 steps behind the house.

I don’t mind living without power. But thanksgiving without power just doesn’t exist. As a house we had to celebrate Thanksgiving a little bit delayed- so many of us were out of town that we invented a new holiday: Thankshanukaismas, and I must say that its inaugural run was stunning. The photos below demonstrate the culinary expertise that was only made possible by the GRS office across the way.

On December 5^th, 2010 at around 3:00pm I began roasting my first 3 chickens ever. With a spirit inspired by Julia Childs I buttered my hands and smeared the chicken with herb butter. If there is anything that I have learned from watching my mom and grandparents cook it is that there is never enough butter! So into the oven my rosemary and lemon chicken went. Out it popped 3 hours later and it was EDIBLE!

At 8:30 pm we delved into our meal. The delectable menu included: Sausage stuffing, rosemary and lemon chicken, chicken mac and cheese, cheesy potatoes, green bean salad,cranberry sauce, pecan pie, pumpkin pie (took a little bit of a spill but thanks to some expert salvaging skills by max and alice), and a jewish noodle dish. It was wonderful, peaceful, delicious, and the perfect holiday. Just us, the zamfam, and a whole lot of food. Life here sure is sweet.

What I did not mention is that the entirety of this meal was cooked from the GRS office. Our stove burnt out mid day, accompanied with a few sparks from the circuit breaker. Our power has been spotty since then, getting fixed a little bit each day…pieces to the electrical puzzle are difficult to find and require a city wide scavenger hunt. But we are getting there and in the mean time we light the Hanukah candles each night and I almost have the prayer down. Our make shift menorah has caught on fire twice. Last night was most eventful- we decided we might need to invest in a fire extinguisher, although there is enough rain to keep our house damp for at least 3 months.

Happy Holidays to all those reading. I hope they are most restful and fire free.

Making debuts and exits: scams and the last VCT of the year

Rainy season, season of rain. I never really understood the meaning of having it rain all day. I am used to the cloud bursts in the desert that is New Mexico and the constant cold and sleet of Ohio. The closest thing to rain all day is a cloudy day all day. But here in Zambia there is not just a rainy day, but a whole season designated to the rains. Rains that pour, drizzle, blow sideways, sting, flood, and are in every way dynamic and life giving. Colors pop against the grey sky and the trajectory of the day gets lost in the hue. I arrive at work and leave work against the same background. For 2 days now the rains have not subsided. A constant clank on the tin roof is a constant ensemble that accompanies us as we are emailing final reports, coordinating our holiday trips, and finalizing plans for the upcoming GRS year.

This past week has been an eclectic accumulation of holiday celebrations and final events, creating closure, reflection, and new beginnings. Last Wednesday, December 1^st, marked the beginning on Hanukah. Lovely latkahs and vino were shared in good company. Saturday was a day to remember with the final UNHCR VCT Challenge Day occurring in Kanyama, one of the more destitute and dodgy compounds around Lusaka. The day was typical. Kids crowded the ground and an traditional Christmas football tournament was occurring at the grounds. What wasn’t typical was the thunderstorm that disturbed the end of the event leaving us paralyzed for about an hour and a half. One of the scarier storms that I have ever been caught in, the rain blew sideways and broke the tent that we were under. Memories of playing in the rain came flooding back to me and I, along with many others, made a mad and hilarious dash for the classrooms, arriving a tint of brown mud. I just looked like a wet dog. Note to self, don’t mess with the rainy season in Zambia.

Post event, it was time to prep for Thanksgiving. Off to Shoprite, one of the supermarkets, at Manda Hill (the mzungu mecca of Lusaka, a mall) to purchase a turkey. No luck on the turkey but one very important event did occur. Max, Lena, and myself all went together and as we were backing out of our parking spot, post shopping, a gentleman slammed into the back of the car. He actually was a complete idiot and a terrible con artist. I wasn’t driving but was in the back seat turned around as we were backing out. I witnessed this man slam his hands against the back of the car and kneel to the ground with a painful look in his eye saying, “owwww, you ran over my foot.” First off your whole body including your hands wouldn’t hit the car if we ran over your foot. Second, you would not have been behind the car but rather to the side of the car where the wheel is. Next a random gentleman ran up to the passenger’s window of our vehicle saying that we needed to go to the police and then the hospital. Max got out of the car to discuss the happenings with the victim. And the man at the window suddenly changed his story from needing to go to the police and the hospital to needing to go to their “family clinic/doctor.” Do I smell a scam? At the end of it all we left. The man with the run over toe refused to show us his foot, and we refused to entertain any more notions that we ran over the wannabe con artists foot.

In conclusion, the rainy season is here and I survived my first Zambian scam.