Going Bush
This weekend, Bryony, Heida, and I piled ourselves into Bryony's 4-Door RAV 4 and took off for the Central Province to meet up with a Peace Corps Volunteer-Rob-whom we met a few weeks ago. I was dying to see what it was like to live out in a village and we had loaded up our boot with 6 boxes of books to help Rob start up a library at his local school.
However, the weekend turned out slightly different than I had imagined but I was so happy. Utterly, completely, totally Chimwewe. (That's my African name, by the way for those who do not know. I was given this name by Kay, after his favorite sister who has passed away. It means happiness and joy)
In fact, I was so happy this weekend that it made me want to join the Peace Corps again! I forgot how much fun it is to spend your days just exploring and learning and living. But they aren't messing around here in Zambia- its a pretty hardcore experience but one that is amazing. I have so much respect for the volunteers here- and I was nostalgic for my time in Tonga as well. It is bizarre how similar Tonga is to Zambia- and the experience of living here. Perhaps all developing countries have a similiar thread...
Anyways- to the story. We packed up the car, filled our jerry-can up with a tank of gas, and headed out on the Great North Road. Along the way we had a few tense police check-points but soon they became routine and you learnt to just smile big, be as warm and friendly as possible and you'll be waved through. At one check point we smiled broadly, and the officer just said, "I like your smile! Go on through!" That was nice. We filled up half way through our journey and made friends at the petrol station. They seemed concerned that we didn't have a man in the car but they laughed heartily when I commented that perhaps I was a man... After finding out that the PCV here hitch the many, many hours out to their sites with truckers or whoever will have them- I thought our circumstance was quick nice.
Eventually we arrived- after passing 10km from the congo border and finding ourselves on the high plateau surrounded by mountains. It was really beautiful out there. We came upon Rob walking along the road in Serenje which is no bigger than one main street. We were skeptical at first when we set off with our Google map containing no street names or any other landmarks other than a few villages dotted along the way- and Rob had told us vaguely that he would meet us "in Serenje." We kept thinking, "but WHERE in serenje". But when it came down to it- we found him pretty easily since he was easily recognizable as the only white guy walking down the street.
He took us to the Peace Corps "Boma" where all the volunteers from that Province get together for some R&R. We met some other volunteers staying there for the weekend- all very friendly- and plopped our stuff down on the floor before Rob excitedly rattled off the options. He was super-excited to get all the books and said he hadn't been expecting that many. I didn't see how they could get books any other way out there since the mail system is practically non-existent.
We swapped the boxes of books for people and once again headed off on the road to find the Kundalila waterfalls. I didn't know what quite to expect so I packed for backpacking- which came in handy when i realized that we would be hiking to the falls- properly hiking. Of course, flip-flops are my best friends and I have no problem negotiating various terrains in them but luckily for Jane, I had packed my keen hiking sandals and she felt much more steady once we switched them out. It was also made clear to us as we hiked to the falls that we needed swimsuits. Ummm.... whoops. This was one article I was not carrying with me but, hey, I had yet to skinny-dip in Africa and now I can happily say that i have skinny-dipped in yet another place in the world.
By the time we made it up to the summit and down to the waterfall my legs were shaking- but I was sooo excited by the experience that I barely noticed my legs as the three boys said, "Hey Jen, come with us up to upper pool!" I happily scrambled my way up over rocks, climbing through trees, and forged the river until we came to the upper pool. It was so loud you could barely hear one another but it was magnificent. Above us, out of the mist, rose the 80m high rock face with the water falling and diving into the deep blue pool below. "How good are you at swimming, Jen" Zack asked. I shrugged my shoulders, "I'm good". And he replies, "Good. You'll need to be" And with that the four of us picked our way to the deepest point and dove in. Immediately my breath was sucked out of my lungs from the freezing water and the current was so strong that whatever I was wearing was now around my ankles and I had to give up on my modesty.
With the water rushing in my ears and the current pushing so hard I had to hold onto a rock to stay in place- it became clear that the purpose of the upper pool was not to idly paddle around in the water- but to swim underneath the waterfall to the rock face. And more importantly, survive while doing this. Now, those of you who know me- you know that I am not a particularly poor swimmer and, in fact, i feel more in my element while wet than in any other enviroment. There has only been two times in my life when I thought to myself that I could drown. Once was when my body was thrown around in 15 foot waves off the coast of mexico and I came out missing two teeth- this was the second time.
You start by pushing off whatever rock you are clinging to and into the rushing water. You swim as hard and as fast as you can towards the torrential waterfall, coming down on you from 80m above. You can't see anything, you can barely breath. Water is coming at you from all directions, and into your mouth, up your nose, in your eyes- and the noise! You could employ various strategies- swimming underwater for as long as possible then coming up for air. But the problem being that you cannot garauntee that you will be able to breathe in any air when you come up. Or you can do breast stroke with your head buried but its just not powerful enough to get you to the wall....
I tried over and over, and probably drank enough water to ensure that I have all the parasites and water-borne diseases you can get in Zambia- but I still could not make it to the wall. Eventually, exhausted and coughing, I gave up. I would have kept trying if it wasn't for that final time when I ran out of air, couldn't find any air- only water, and just had to give up until my body was swept with the current back to the rocks that lined the edge of the pool.
Defeated, yet totally exhilirated, we climbed back down from the upper pool all smiles and shaking from the cold, the nerves, and the failure of our muscles.
Once back down we recovered while warming ourselves on the warm rocks, eating samosas and drinking beer before we started our climb back up to the car.
On the drive home, sandwiched between Rob and Zack, with Pablo and Jane in the very back, we sang along to Right Said Fred and The Killers before we stopped mid-way in search of the local brew- tea wine. We pulled off the road, at dusk, and parked in front of a store. Pouring out the car, we headed around to the back of the store where about 20 people were sitting under a little thatched shelter, sharing tea-wine. For the millionth time since arriving in serenje, I wished that I was a PCV as Rob spoke in Bemba to make the introductions and arrange for two bottles of wine. What I would have given to have been able to speak to them. The Lala's (yet another tribe) invited us to sit with them and they gave us plastic cups to be passed around filled with the brew. It tasted like all other homebrews, just like the Hopi in Tonga- except instead of pineapples they used tea. I have to say I am particular to the pineapple.
Once again, I was all smiles, so excited to be having all these new experiences as we piled back into the car to grab a drink and get some dinner. Now, by "dinner" I mean a plate of chips and a samosa. There was no food. Not even some pasta or eggs or tomatoes. Nothing. It was fried or fried or beer.
Back at the Boma we hung out, attempted to play, "beer cricket" (at which i failed miserably) and watched the chappelle show- which is ironic since the Chappelle show provided me with hours of escapism in tonga! I was disappointed to not have stayed in the village but I have a feeling that I will be bugging Rob until I get the full experience in the village.
The next day we drove Rob to his site to see the school where the books will be used and to see his house. The school had two rooms and we got to meet one of the teachers. I was very happy to be donating the books there- as long as someone is going to treat it as a library and not give away the books.
Then Rob took us to his site. Awsome, let me tell you. Just bad-ass. He's out there in this mud-brick, thatched-roofed hut with a dog, a rabbit, and even a swimming hole just a 10 minute walk away. I am so jealous. After we took loads of pictures of his site- including the "toilet" (aka hole in the ground") we braved the oppressive heat to see his fish ponds. Rob is trying to start up fish farming in his village as part of his project. I could have hung out there all day but we still had the 5 hour drive back to look forward to.
The drive back was spent using the last of our cash on buying baskets, melons, honey, tomatoes, potatoes, and charcoal. We learned that the African Potato is belived to be a cure for AIDS. Which may sound bizarre but it is better than the other "cures" I've heard of. The Honey is mostly sold to be turned into beer, and the tomatoes were 1/2 the price they are in lusaka.
When we arrived back to Lusaka and passed the city limits I became so much more aware of the state of the city. How dirty, decrepit, and poverty stricken it is in comparison to the bush. In the bush- they are without- but with less needs as well. In the city its hard to live as easily off of the basics. In the city, you can't have a house made of thatched reeds, you can't have your pigs and chickens roaming around, you aren't able to farm your land- if you have any land at all and in the village someone will always take care of you. In the city you have to pay rent (which is ridiculously high) you need transport, you need education to get a job, you need cash- and lots of it. But the city is also seen as a place of opportunity. A place to get an education, to earn money, to have a better life. We certainly do have more amenities- access to electricity and running water, more commerce, more variety of foods and people. But the choice between the city-life and bush-life has been argued since cities began.
I, myself didn't have much time to ponder this question when I arrived home because my body decided to give up on me. It had enough and wanted to sleep...alot. All that excitement and adventure-it was like I was two again and just got home from the amusement park after eating too much cotton candy. But even if I couldn't do anything but lay on my bed and close my eyes- I was blissfully happy.
However, the weekend turned out slightly different than I had imagined but I was so happy. Utterly, completely, totally Chimwewe. (That's my African name, by the way for those who do not know. I was given this name by Kay, after his favorite sister who has passed away. It means happiness and joy)
In fact, I was so happy this weekend that it made me want to join the Peace Corps again! I forgot how much fun it is to spend your days just exploring and learning and living. But they aren't messing around here in Zambia- its a pretty hardcore experience but one that is amazing. I have so much respect for the volunteers here- and I was nostalgic for my time in Tonga as well. It is bizarre how similar Tonga is to Zambia- and the experience of living here. Perhaps all developing countries have a similiar thread...
Anyways- to the story. We packed up the car, filled our jerry-can up with a tank of gas, and headed out on the Great North Road. Along the way we had a few tense police check-points but soon they became routine and you learnt to just smile big, be as warm and friendly as possible and you'll be waved through. At one check point we smiled broadly, and the officer just said, "I like your smile! Go on through!" That was nice. We filled up half way through our journey and made friends at the petrol station. They seemed concerned that we didn't have a man in the car but they laughed heartily when I commented that perhaps I was a man... After finding out that the PCV here hitch the many, many hours out to their sites with truckers or whoever will have them- I thought our circumstance was quick nice.
Eventually we arrived- after passing 10km from the congo border and finding ourselves on the high plateau surrounded by mountains. It was really beautiful out there. We came upon Rob walking along the road in Serenje which is no bigger than one main street. We were skeptical at first when we set off with our Google map containing no street names or any other landmarks other than a few villages dotted along the way- and Rob had told us vaguely that he would meet us "in Serenje." We kept thinking, "but WHERE in serenje". But when it came down to it- we found him pretty easily since he was easily recognizable as the only white guy walking down the street.
He took us to the Peace Corps "Boma" where all the volunteers from that Province get together for some R&R. We met some other volunteers staying there for the weekend- all very friendly- and plopped our stuff down on the floor before Rob excitedly rattled off the options. He was super-excited to get all the books and said he hadn't been expecting that many. I didn't see how they could get books any other way out there since the mail system is practically non-existent.
We swapped the boxes of books for people and once again headed off on the road to find the Kundalila waterfalls. I didn't know what quite to expect so I packed for backpacking- which came in handy when i realized that we would be hiking to the falls- properly hiking. Of course, flip-flops are my best friends and I have no problem negotiating various terrains in them but luckily for Jane, I had packed my keen hiking sandals and she felt much more steady once we switched them out. It was also made clear to us as we hiked to the falls that we needed swimsuits. Ummm.... whoops. This was one article I was not carrying with me but, hey, I had yet to skinny-dip in Africa and now I can happily say that i have skinny-dipped in yet another place in the world.
By the time we made it up to the summit and down to the waterfall my legs were shaking- but I was sooo excited by the experience that I barely noticed my legs as the three boys said, "Hey Jen, come with us up to upper pool!" I happily scrambled my way up over rocks, climbing through trees, and forged the river until we came to the upper pool. It was so loud you could barely hear one another but it was magnificent. Above us, out of the mist, rose the 80m high rock face with the water falling and diving into the deep blue pool below. "How good are you at swimming, Jen" Zack asked. I shrugged my shoulders, "I'm good". And he replies, "Good. You'll need to be" And with that the four of us picked our way to the deepest point and dove in. Immediately my breath was sucked out of my lungs from the freezing water and the current was so strong that whatever I was wearing was now around my ankles and I had to give up on my modesty.
With the water rushing in my ears and the current pushing so hard I had to hold onto a rock to stay in place- it became clear that the purpose of the upper pool was not to idly paddle around in the water- but to swim underneath the waterfall to the rock face. And more importantly, survive while doing this. Now, those of you who know me- you know that I am not a particularly poor swimmer and, in fact, i feel more in my element while wet than in any other enviroment. There has only been two times in my life when I thought to myself that I could drown. Once was when my body was thrown around in 15 foot waves off the coast of mexico and I came out missing two teeth- this was the second time.
You start by pushing off whatever rock you are clinging to and into the rushing water. You swim as hard and as fast as you can towards the torrential waterfall, coming down on you from 80m above. You can't see anything, you can barely breath. Water is coming at you from all directions, and into your mouth, up your nose, in your eyes- and the noise! You could employ various strategies- swimming underwater for as long as possible then coming up for air. But the problem being that you cannot garauntee that you will be able to breathe in any air when you come up. Or you can do breast stroke with your head buried but its just not powerful enough to get you to the wall....
I tried over and over, and probably drank enough water to ensure that I have all the parasites and water-borne diseases you can get in Zambia- but I still could not make it to the wall. Eventually, exhausted and coughing, I gave up. I would have kept trying if it wasn't for that final time when I ran out of air, couldn't find any air- only water, and just had to give up until my body was swept with the current back to the rocks that lined the edge of the pool.
Defeated, yet totally exhilirated, we climbed back down from the upper pool all smiles and shaking from the cold, the nerves, and the failure of our muscles.
Once back down we recovered while warming ourselves on the warm rocks, eating samosas and drinking beer before we started our climb back up to the car.
On the drive home, sandwiched between Rob and Zack, with Pablo and Jane in the very back, we sang along to Right Said Fred and The Killers before we stopped mid-way in search of the local brew- tea wine. We pulled off the road, at dusk, and parked in front of a store. Pouring out the car, we headed around to the back of the store where about 20 people were sitting under a little thatched shelter, sharing tea-wine. For the millionth time since arriving in serenje, I wished that I was a PCV as Rob spoke in Bemba to make the introductions and arrange for two bottles of wine. What I would have given to have been able to speak to them. The Lala's (yet another tribe) invited us to sit with them and they gave us plastic cups to be passed around filled with the brew. It tasted like all other homebrews, just like the Hopi in Tonga- except instead of pineapples they used tea. I have to say I am particular to the pineapple.
Once again, I was all smiles, so excited to be having all these new experiences as we piled back into the car to grab a drink and get some dinner. Now, by "dinner" I mean a plate of chips and a samosa. There was no food. Not even some pasta or eggs or tomatoes. Nothing. It was fried or fried or beer.
Back at the Boma we hung out, attempted to play, "beer cricket" (at which i failed miserably) and watched the chappelle show- which is ironic since the Chappelle show provided me with hours of escapism in tonga! I was disappointed to not have stayed in the village but I have a feeling that I will be bugging Rob until I get the full experience in the village.
The next day we drove Rob to his site to see the school where the books will be used and to see his house. The school had two rooms and we got to meet one of the teachers. I was very happy to be donating the books there- as long as someone is going to treat it as a library and not give away the books.
Then Rob took us to his site. Awsome, let me tell you. Just bad-ass. He's out there in this mud-brick, thatched-roofed hut with a dog, a rabbit, and even a swimming hole just a 10 minute walk away. I am so jealous. After we took loads of pictures of his site- including the "toilet" (aka hole in the ground") we braved the oppressive heat to see his fish ponds. Rob is trying to start up fish farming in his village as part of his project. I could have hung out there all day but we still had the 5 hour drive back to look forward to.
The drive back was spent using the last of our cash on buying baskets, melons, honey, tomatoes, potatoes, and charcoal. We learned that the African Potato is belived to be a cure for AIDS. Which may sound bizarre but it is better than the other "cures" I've heard of. The Honey is mostly sold to be turned into beer, and the tomatoes were 1/2 the price they are in lusaka.
When we arrived back to Lusaka and passed the city limits I became so much more aware of the state of the city. How dirty, decrepit, and poverty stricken it is in comparison to the bush. In the bush- they are without- but with less needs as well. In the city its hard to live as easily off of the basics. In the city, you can't have a house made of thatched reeds, you can't have your pigs and chickens roaming around, you aren't able to farm your land- if you have any land at all and in the village someone will always take care of you. In the city you have to pay rent (which is ridiculously high) you need transport, you need education to get a job, you need cash- and lots of it. But the city is also seen as a place of opportunity. A place to get an education, to earn money, to have a better life. We certainly do have more amenities- access to electricity and running water, more commerce, more variety of foods and people. But the choice between the city-life and bush-life has been argued since cities began.
I, myself didn't have much time to ponder this question when I arrived home because my body decided to give up on me. It had enough and wanted to sleep...alot. All that excitement and adventure-it was like I was two again and just got home from the amusement park after eating too much cotton candy. But even if I couldn't do anything but lay on my bed and close my eyes- I was blissfully happy.
posted by Jen at 12:47 AM
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