Offically a PCV

"Hi there friends, family, and blog readers. I'd like to first apologize for the blog silence as I've been fighting technology in the bush here for a couple months now. Wow, where to start.  It's  been a crazy ride completing training and all the testing, swearing in and becoming an official PCV, and getting posted to my site in Luapula Province. Unfortunately, I wrote out numerous blog posts during this process that were eaten by my blogger app or are still trapped on my smartphone which can't get enough reception to post to the blog. That being said let me try to recap these past couple months. Additionally don't be surprised if numerous postings hit the blog when I get wifi at some point. I also hope to mail a thumb drive of photos back home at some point for upload via 1st world internet. August was a crazy month as I crammed as much bemba as possible into my tiny brain. I had a mock LPI (lang proficency interview) test followed by the real thing the following week. During this 30 min interview you are asked a series of questions about your family, work, hobbies, travel, education, and other misc things and you must hold a conversation in bemba for that time. For some people it's not hard but for me it was the major barrier between training and service. Needless to say I scraped by with the required minimum of Intermediate mid level proficiency. Trust me when I say this sounds far more impressive than my actual bemba skills. Unfortunately the test makes you talk about a bunch of stuff that never comes up in the village so a lot of what I learned is useless here in village life. I wish I learned to talk about the weather and health problems. Those would've been far more beneficial. The teaching final was a breeze and I really enjoyed our teaching practice with the Zambian classrooms including getting to teach my host sister Phades. I love teaching and can't wait to have my own class at the start of next term. I only teach English and teaching EFL (English as a Foreign Lang) is tricky enough. Towards the end of August we held a big cultural day at the training facility and the families, chief and training staff all attended to watch us sing, dance, give speeches in the local languages, and generally show off what we learned in our 3 month intensive training program. That day might rank as the most chaotic day in Zambia so far. I woke at 4am to pack up since it was also move out day. We started cooking at 6am since we had to feed the masses. Somewhere in there I had to take a cold shower and locate my cultural Zambian clothes we all had made. 10 am rolled around and parents filled seats to see their "adopted" children. We served our meal and everything good was gone by time the trainees got to eat but at least the families got to try our All American cuisine. We put on our show giving the American rendition of Zambian songs and dances. Overall it was a good time but that was short lived as we literally said goodbye to our families an hopped into a cruiser Lusaka bound. We got to our hotel to find our mountain of luggage waiting for us. Seriously it was a mountain. 30 volunteers stuff to live for 2 years including things we had acquired in country such as bicycles, water filters, bedding, etc. It took me a good while to locate all of my bags and care packages and load them all into my hotel room for the next 3 days. Between my things and Leah's you could hardly see the floor. It was the 3rd Zambian hotel I had stayed in and the 3rd not to have running hot water (they all claim to have it). Needless to say your standards change considerably after bush life. We were reunited with the health trainees that night that we hadn't seen since the first week in country. It was a lot of "who are you again?" As expected,  dinner and breakfast were late every meal during our stay. Zamtime. We conducted some final trainings, swam in the pool, and enjoyed our few days of civilization. Asia and I decided to take public transit to the mall and the market. Needless to say we never did make it to Kamwala market to buy chitenge but we did walk around a shady part of Lusaka for a while. I also spent way too much on chitenge from a random lady on the side of the road but I was determined not to leave empty handed after our crazy adventure. (chitenge is a general use cloth they sell that can be used as a towel, curtain, skirt, or anything else you can imagine) Our last day in Lusaka was swear in. We all woke early, dressed in our finest Zambian chitenge tailoring, and took off for the embassy house where we would be sworn in as official PCVs! It irritated me a little that even that morning they made a point of referring to us as trainees and not volunteers yet. But that's government beaurocracy for you. We all sat excitedly through the speeches and the same thank yous until it was time to stand and take our oath. One piece the guy said was so long  that no one could remember all of it and we all kinda muttered and giggled. But alas we were official! By the end of the ceremony I'm pretty sure you could hear the cadence of all the PCV's bellies grumbling for food. We ate some darn good h'our derves and then it was off again. We piled by province into the cruisers and were taken to the mall to do our final shopping! That posting allowance that seemed so sweet at the bank went far too fast leaving me without furniture and a few other necessities. PS the bank was an adventure;  it was an all-morning-3- different-locations-around-Lusaka kind of adventure aka the Zambian standard. The madness of trying to get everything you need in only a couple hours is horrifying. Also I'll never again complain about a Wal-Mart line. ShopRite has topped the charts on crazy lines. That night we all went out and celebrated our new PCV status. Since we had to be up at O'dark thirty we pulled an all nighter. Ok confession; I feel asleep with 5 or 6 people in my room talking the last hour or two. But we had a good time dancing it up, drinking, and singing karaoke. Finally it was time. The highly anticipated day of posting! It was filled with more mixed emotions than a container of jelly beans. Excitement for the unknown, horror when I couldn't find my bag of electronics, sadness to leave all of our new friends, loathing for the long drive ahead, and so on. But regardless of the wet eyes we were off. I think it took us 13 hours to get to the provincial house via cruiser. It's crazy how that ride wears you out when all you do is sit! On the plus side we stopped at this little food place with American style food and I got a burger and coffee milkshake. It wasn't exactly Red Robin or even Sonic but I was happy for the comfort of even somewhat familiar food. We made it in just before dark and had to again unload all of our masses of stuff. We had a pretty grand night hanging out together. Before the last bought of market shopping commenced Marcus arranged for us to spend a day (few hours) at a nice waterfall. Best 50 kawacha I've spent! We swam and jumped off the falls, all the while trying to grasp that this was our new home. The cliff jumping was terrifying especially if you are afraid of heights but a motto I like to try to live by is "do one thing every day that scares you." So I did it twice! The next day consisted of visits to immigration to secure our work visas and 6 hours to get our ARC (alien registration card). When we finally finished and had our ID in hand several of the Zambian baymaayos (mothers) were gesturing for us to give them our cards. We handed them over and they inspected the cards and shook our hands with warm smiles and bemba congratulations of sort. It was really endearing and it was one of those "well I'm Zambian now!" kinda moments. Then came the market; a magical mysterious maze of bulk goods, chitenge stands, dried food, second hand clothes, and more. It's what you probably think of when you think 3rd world market. It's crowded, jam packed with goods, and everyone wants your money. But we came out mostly victorious. I secured enough TP to last 3 months, loads of matches, pots, plastic buckets and basins, beans, misc kitchen wares, candles, yarn, a braiser, and probably a few other misc things I'm forgetting. We hit up the hardware store last securing wire, nails, and paint. The paint was far more than I wanted to spend and I got the cheapest of the colors but the beautiful sky blue has turned my mud hut into a cozy home. No regrets. And that pretty much sums up August and the first week of September. I packed up and arrived at site thereafter and have been living in the village since, but I'll save that for a different post.

Zam Twitter- July 2014

After loosing my last draft of this post to the the failure of my blogger app here is the probably less interesting rewrite.

7/2/14- We like to play a game we invented during our language sessions called goat or child? It's simple really: anytime you hear a noise that is not completely distint someone yells goat or child and then someone guesses while trying to identify the correct answer.

7/3/14- Found a giant trantula in the path between my chimubusu and me. After assessing my sandled feet and the size of the spider I made an audible agreement with said spider. "I'm going to go this way, you are going to go back to the bush and NOT my hut, and we are going to pretend this never happened."

7/4/14- The drunkard who was singing when I went to bed is still at it at 5am this morning.

7/5/14- First language simulation. I can't believe how much we have to learn in such a short period of time.

7/6/14- First real day off since we got here and I couldn't even sleep until 8am. Swept my house while listening to my Mp3 player and when "ain't what you do" came on I stopped and did the shim sham in my hut in rural Africa. *Shout out to all my swing friends reading this

7/7/14- Cultural exchange at its finest! I checked traps for mice this morning.....that my family will eat for dinner. Nothing like hunting mice to make you feel alive in the brisk early morning!

7/8/14- PACA day. A day in which Peace Corps attempts to have you use community assessment tools but in reality just makes you feel like your language skills are crap. Oh and I fetched water.

7/10/14- Foam mattress on the floor is taking a toll on me. Everything hurts. Also a visitor showed up last night which means I have to eat breakfast by the fire.

7/11/14- Gorgeous view as the sun set on one side and the moon rose on the other.

7/12/14- Sick :( (I blame the mandatory flu shots we were given.) We had a session with the cheif today and words didn't exactly match actions as he talked about gender equality and yet the men sat in chairs and all the women sat on the floor......

7/15/14- Found out site assignments! Heading to Luapula province! Also got to meet my head teacher who gave me a giant hug when matched our phrase.

7/16/14- After being in Lusaka the past two days for a host workshop I received a welcome fit for a solider returning from war when came home.

7/17/14- The pretty black and white speckled chicken is actually a rooster!!!!! Sigh.......

7/19/14- Second lanuage simulation.

7/20/14- My first tango with Zam transit. I don't think I've ever been so crammed into a vehicle as I was on public transit today. I can't imagine when it is summer with a bunch of smelly Zambians and I get a baby forced onto my lap. On the plus side I got some beautiful chitenges.

7/22/14- Made it to Luapula for site visit. Quite possibly one of the most confusing days of my life.

7/23/14- Children were repurposed today from learners to slaves as my house repairs had not yet been completed as my village said they would be. Children spent their day carrying bundles of thatch to my house instead of being in the classroom. Also I killed my first snake, a little bright green skinny snake about 18 inches long.

7/24/14- Salt and vinegar bush fries for breakfast. Later that evening I scorched my thumb real good when the handle of my braiser broke mid swinng.

7/25/14- When I went to show some school boys the tiny bat inhabiting my temporary home they went and found giant sticks 4x their height to remedy my problem. (I actually didn't mind the bat)

7/26/14- 20 children sat silently and watched me do dishes this morning......

7/27/14- Second site visit at Sarah's site. Shou made awesome pancakes!

7/28/14- Bathed and washed clothes in the river.

7/29/14- I will never again complain about the 2 hour minbus ride from Chipembi to Lusaka. I spent the last 13 hours crammed on a bus and taxi to get home to Chipembi from Luapula.

Also I want to apologize for calling this a Zam Twitter. I clearly do not have a twitter account and certainly don't understand the character limit part of its invention.

Second Site Visit- My home!

This week has been a long one but so worth it! I got to see my future home for two years, meet my class, the teachers, the villagers, and my new host family. It has been so exciting and I'm going to have a great service here I can tell already.

Monday around 11am we rolled into my school complex with excitment high and nerves frazzled from the day and a half journey it took to get to my village. Immediately children flocked to our Peace Corps Cruiser like months to the flame! So many eager yet shy eyes were upon us. I decided to get out and say hi. "Muli Shani?" I greeted the children and replies of "bwino shani?" quietly escaped their mouths as they psuedo shook my hand. While the children might've been shy to talk at first they were not so shy about touching. Everyone wanted to shake hands with the new girl and a mass of school children were standing with their arms extended through rows of others trying to get their chance.

The teachers came out and greeted me as well and then from thin air appeared 3 drums and 4 boys began to play. A teacher began to sing "Ba Teeny baisa" then the children replied "we are happy we are happy." This call and response went on for some time while the children clapped, laughed, and danced. Baisa in bemba means you have come. So essentially the song was a warm welcome for me. When I joined in and started dancing with the drums the children roared with excitement and the dance party was on! The dancing here is more similar to merenge or rhumba than what you might expect when you think of African dance, so the hips started shaking (well all but mine haha). I can't believe watching some of these children ages 5-10 shake it like something I'd see at a nightclub back home! I'm not going to lie, I'm a little jealous, but I have 2 years to learn.

After the commotion died down I was informed I would't be staying in my house as Peace Corps intended. An alternate temporary accomodation had been arranged until the roof on my house was completed. We hauled my bags into the head teacher's office for storage until later. A meeting was called with the teachers present to go over what was expected for my week stay and ultimately my two year service within the community. It was very formal with an agenda written on the board complete with opening prayer and official dismissal.

After our meeting my host father, Elias, came to the school and walked me to my home. I will live about a half of a km from the school, less than a 10 minute walk down the tarmac (paved road) from the school. We passed many homes situated just off the road on which cars fly by at seemingly death defying speeds. I looked on in anticipation surveying each house we passed and yelling greetings to all the people. I kept assessing each compound and thinking nah that one's too nice, or too many people to be mine, etc. And then finally my host father pointed indicating we needed to turn off the road. I could barely contain my excitement as I scanned the three houses in front of me. None of which turned out to be mine, but as we continued a beautiful white house with a lovely porch emerged from behind some trees. My first thought was "no way this is mine, it's huge." Then my father said in very broken english "here it is." "What no way!" I couldn't help but second guess what he had said. This was MY house? You mean my palace! My father took the lock off the door and I entered to find 4 rooms and a square footage more than double my hut in Chipembi. At first glance I barely noticed the missing roof, but as I calmed down I took in the scene noting the blue room with termite lines running across the walls like train tracks on a map, the wall painted with chalkboard paint where the previous volunteer left important names and numbers, the worn bedframe left for me, the stains on the walls where the thatch had leaked last rainy season, the concrete bathing shelter in the house, the cemented and painted walls, and even the chalk board that hung on the porch. As we walked around the compound I realized that the mess I was walking on had once been my roof. I surveyed the large insaka and the chimbusu which has a really small hole and apparent spider problem. I might be getting used to having those guys in my house but not a few inches from my face or bare bottom in the chim. Sorry spiders, you are going down.

The whole scene was unbelievable. We went next door and met my host family. I didn't quite realize at the time that they were my family but I'm excited to have them. Elias and his oldest son speak a little english; enough that between my broken bemba and their english we were able to mostly communicate. Apparently during conversation about what crops they farmed I somehow mentioned or communicated that I wanted them to cook me a 5 course meal. First it started with shelling and roasting some groundnuts which I insisted I help with since I never intended them to make me food. Then while we were discussing cassava nshima they asked if I had tasted it, when I said no two cassava roots were brought and roasted over the fire. "Awesome" I thought, despite it being pretty bland I was hungry. And then before I realized what was happening sweet potatoe leaves and some other greens were being cooked up with tiny green tomatoes. And of course here in Zambia it's not a meal if there isn't nshima. So they cooked up a mixed maize and cassava shima. They then insisted I eat in the house because the insaka was too dirty. What I didn't realize is that the food that had been prepared was only for me! I felt kinda weird eating alone inside their house. I made sure not to finish anything so they could eat later if they were hungry, though I'm finding out a lot of people don't eat lunch around here. 1 or 2 meals a day seems to be the norm.

After my private meal we walked over to the river to see where I'd be drawing water from. It's a bit of treacherous walk but the river was absolutely beautiful! It looked like a greeny, lazy, winding Kentucky river. On the banks were hollowed out log canoes which are paddled with reeds while standing. The farmers use these to get across the river to their feilds. On our way back I watched my tiny host mother carry a 5 gallon bucket of water on her head with no hands while the woman in front did the same with a baby tied to her back. These women are small but strong.

Elias escorted me back to the school and I began to move my things into the temporary residence that had been swept and prepared for me. It's funny how help flocks the minute a white person tries to do something on their own here. They were all shocked when I told them I could carry my hiking pack with no problem. But in quick sucession the teachers grabbed the remainder of my things and brought them behind me. I began to set up my tent and before I knew it another teacher appeared with a tarp and reed mat. Shortly after two school desks were carried into the house for seating. Next appeared buckets of dishes, then a wash basin, then buckets of water. Someone even heated me bath water. I was asked if I needed anything else and the only missing items were a braiser and charcol to cook with. Shortly a lit and ready brasier arrived. I still have no idea what belongs to who but I'm greatly appreciative that everyone pulled together to equip me for this week.

You're never really clean in Zambia

No matter how much you try: you're never really clean in Zambia. It doesn't matter if you've taken the most thorough bucket bath of your life and scrubbed every nook and cranny. The minute you rinse off and step out of of your bathing shelter into the dust or mud your feet are instantly dirty again. Along the same lines your clothes are never really clean either. They may look and smell mostly presentable but the minute you stick that dirty foot through your legging or pant leg they are once again dirty. It's just a fact of life here.
I scrub my feet with my leftover dirty bathwater. We do dishes in what quickly becomes a dirty bowl of wash water followed by an only slightly less gross bucket of rinse water. The laundry water is a bit counter intuitive as you scrub your clothes with nothing less than soapy watered down mud by the end of the bucket. Of course much like the dishes the first couple pieces of clothing get a nice rinsing but after that you are really just diluting the soap and dirt combo that has been rubbed into the deep pores of the fabric by harsh hand washing. Sure your clothes might be stain free and mostly smell like nothing but they dry stiff from the lingering soapy dirt clinging to the fibers.
Even after I shower I dry myself off with a chitenge that in the same day might've been used on the ground, around my waist, on my head or quite possibly all three.
The good news is that no one in the villages has running water to keep clothes supremely clean and even those that are fortunate enough to bathe in a concrete shelter have to step on the same dusty ground at some point. So despite the fact that I'm more hygienic here than I ever was in the states I think it's a safe bet to say I'm never exactly clean here in Zambia.

You are too fat!

One major cultural difference that may come as a shock upon arrival is the difference in what is perceived as beautiful. Here is Zambia, at least the more rural areas, being fat is a sign of health and wealth. If someone says "you are looking fat today" the appropriate response is thank you!
Now for a slightly larger women coming from the media blitz of American commercialism this was a bit hard to wrap my brain around. For the last 27 years everything around me told me that being "fat" was ugly and unhealthy. So needless to say the first time I was referred to as fat my mind did a bit of a double take.
And then again just a week ago. I asked if there was a better way to tie/wrap my chitenge and my host mother's reply was "you are too fat!"
Yikes! I'm what? Oh right that's a good thing here. What a contrast.So this weight and beauty image I struggle with in the states is all of the sudden the picture of beauty. This body I've abused trying to maintain is suddenly the key to my survival. With no mirror and only stretchy waistbands on skirts and leggings I have no way to gauge my weight situation. No scale to track my impending doom as I did in America. And best yet; no media advertisements to compare myself with. All of a sudden my gauge of health becomes simply "can I complete the tasks I need to?"
At first the answer to this new metric was no; but as the days pass and I ride my bike, carry heavy buckets of water, and use this gift I was given, the answer shifts a little more each day. To my mother's dismay I'm still only eating one lump of n'shima and while I'm not changing physically I think the change is coming mentally.
It's amazing how much easier it is to love yourself when comparison and judgment are removed. I think the next time someone says "you are looking fat today" I'll sincerely be able to reply "Thank You!"

Bush Routines

Every morning they sweep the whole compound...

Bamaaya (mother) washing dishes

Chimbusu (pit toilet) and bathing hut (right)

Bataata (father), Eunice and Phades (sisters)

My Hut during training..

Sisters

My sister said I could only carry one jug....

Phades.. Three jugs of water!

Sunday Morning breakfast... July 2014

Home Sweet Home

I'm getting used to the routines here in suburbia Zambia. The chickens running around the compound when I first get up, the cat begging for my breakfast each morning (and me sneaking the leftover of my boiled egg to him), the pieces of thatch that randomly fall from my roof in the middle of the night, my sisters cooking at the fire when I come home each evening, the boys yelling at the cows as they haul water back on the ox cart each afternoon, the songs coming from the darkness each night, and OH the stars!
I'm getting used to squatting; squatting to use a hole for a toilet, squatting to bathe, squatting to cook, squatting to write on the lowest part of the chalkboard (in a dress), squatting to repair my bicycle, and so on. The routines around here are mostly predictable but then again there is what I like to call ZamCulture and you never know who will join you by the fire at night, or stop by to ask for some veggies, or delay your path to talk for a while.
Even things like ducking to enter any enclosure have become routine habits. And the sweeping; my favorite exercise in futility! No matter how much you sweep there is more dirt/ thatch/ or bugs 5 minutes later, it doesn't matter if it is inside or outside.
These routines become common place, they become life- and at a surprisingly quick rate. I find that on those rare, still, and quiet nights when there are no jubilent songs drifting through the night air that the day somehow feels incomplete. Even as I write this I smile at the songs of the drunk man outside. It may not be as pretty as the normal hyms I hear but the music of the night has become routine and even the songs of the drunk are part of this crazy routine here in Zambia that I like to call life.

Zam Twitter- June 2014

They say the best form of flattery is imitation and I sure hope that is true as this idea is stolen, errr I mean borrowed from a fellow Zambian volunteer. Check out Matt's blog at www.fishinginzambia.wordpress.com.

June 2014-

6/9/14-Woke up early to leave for the airport. Stopped and had my last chick-fil-a meal on the way.

6/10/14- Took my last shower for a while at the hotel in Philidelphia during staging.

6/11/14- "I'm sitting in Newark airport waiting to check my massive luggage after a sleepless night."

6/12/14- Zambia Day 1. Spider rules to live by which had to be employed night 1: If it lays flat against the wall you want them around, if they stand up off the wall, kill it.

6/16/14- First site visit to Maureen's site in Southern province. Met a cheif while dropping off other volunteers.

6/18/14- Learned how to milk a cow; I'm not particularly good at it.

6/19/14- I'm not used to seeing so many unattended children walking the roadside.

6/20/19- Said goodbye to quite possibly the nicest host family in all of Southern! Shout out to Ba Levius and Ba Ellen. They were so sweet telling us we were part of the family and should come back to see them anytime.

6/20/14- Said hello to a new host family and a spider infested hut for my 12 week training program.

6/21/14- Got brave and waged war on the spiders.

6/22/14- The wind was so strong it blew off chunks of my thatch roof. I now have a Zambian sun light.

6/23/14- Start of language training. I'm learning bemba which means I don't yet know where I'll be placed.

6/24/14- Feeling frustrated, seems like training is all or nothing. A day filled with too much important info or worthless common sense sessions.

6/25/14- I can see my breath this morning. I underestimated African winters.

6/27/14- Giant tarantula spotted directly in my path to the chimbusu. Assessed the size of the spider and my sandled feet. Decided in favor of the spider after visuals of it running up my leg if I tried to stomp it. Spoke outloud to the spider (you do crazy things in Africa) "Ok Mr. Trantula, you are going to go back to the bush and NOT my hut; and I'm going to go this other way and pretend this never happened."

6/29/14- So much wind! I thought the tin roof of my host family's house might just blow off!

Teen vs. Spiders

This is Bob.  He lives in a crack on my wall.  Although he has molted and doubled in size I have let him live.. so far!

As a follow up post to my spider experience I thought I'd share how the battle is going.
After that first night I armed myself and got brave. With a broom and a can of bug killer I waged war on my roommates. I now have a nightly ritual of checking my room pre-dusk (if possible), after dark, and before bed and clearing the walls of any brave spiders who seek refuge past the plastic lining my thatch.
Part of me feels bad. Everyone keeps telling me the spiders are really harmless and actually help kill some of the harmful bugs like malaria carrying mosquitoes. But I still can't over how creepy they look!
I must say though. Back in the states I could not kill a spider the size of a penny. Now my rule of thumb is anything under the size of a quarter can stay. I ate lunch with one on the wall in front of me a little bigger than a silver dollar yesterday. And last night there was a tiny spider on my leggings after bathing which I promptly squished, shook out, and put on. Who knows, with this kind of progress maybe I'll call these 8 legged bugs friends by time I leave Africa.

Facebook message from Kelly Brannigan July 2014

On that note I want to thank everyone who has sent out prayers for me to help get over this fear. Luckily the snakes don't scare me too much and I'll just get a big stick to beat those. Funny too since those are the ones that can kill me.

Spiders

If there is one thing Africa does well it is bugs! They are bigger, scarier, and only in some cases more harmful. For those of you who don't know me; my BIGGEST fear is spiders, and Africa welcomed me challenging that fear on day 1! With a large tarantula in my bathroom on night one, some creepy large black wall spiders during our stay at the barn, and now some crazy looking spiders that like to share my hut at night. Apparently my current roommates live in the thatch in my roof so it's impossible to completely get rid of them. Night one in my home stay felt like an episode of fear factor challenging my sanity and questioning my resolve.
To better tell this story let me give you some background: while home in the states I would typically scream and jump across the room at the sight of the tiniest spider. I've woken people up at 2am to kill pin head size spiders. So being surrounded by 20+ spiders, many the size of the palm of my hand, that look freaky and move fast was quite the experience.
Story time:
It's Friday evening and the cruiser is yet again packed full of 10 eager and nervous volunteers. We have been given no language training because time ran out and are prepared during the ride with only the words for hello and thank you. Then we pull around the corner and my name comes up! "Teen this is you" the driver says. I'm dropped off with a strange family, in a strange land, with a water filter and two words......
Luckily breathing a sigh of relief my host mother seems to be pretty nice and even speaks a little English. Whew maybe this will work out well. I'm escorted inside the main house which is modest but nice. Concrete walls, a tin roof, and 3 rooms. In the center of the room is a coffee table surrounded by three well worn green couches covered in torn crocheted doileys. I'm ushered over to take a seat and introduced to the girls. At this point I'm thinking ok not bad. Then they grab the small mattress that had been lying against the wall and escort me to "my hut."
From the outside it appears to be stable but it clearly had seen better days. Its mud mortar between the red bricks crumbled a little and the plastic capping the dilapidated thatching blew in the breeze held down only by the sticks tied to its corners.  As we entered it was dark. The little tiny brick sized windows didn't allow much light to spill in. My mother beckoned for the solar lamp Peace Corps provided.
I scrambled through the bag of bedding and supplies that was to sustain me in this little room and pulled out the brand new solar king lamp. It looked out of place in the rural setting. My mother quickly grabbed the lamp and went to work laying down a mat and then the mattress. I entered the 2nd tiny room of the hut where the mattress rest on the floor and screamed! The walls were adorned with spiders. Spiders 10x the size of where I come from and fierce looking with almost tiger like designs on their bodies.  Many of them could span a man's hand. I froze as a mix of panic and terror overcame me. 
After finally registering what was surrounding me I gained the courage to move and jumped into the first room again which now illuminated was also spider covered!  I jumped out of the hut and let out a deep sigh.
Once I calmed down I could hear the sounds of laughter all around me. Silly umsungu is afraid of spiders. Then came my mother's voice "they don't bite, they are your friend." "Not mine," I reply.
She is kind enough to wipe them off the walls with a broom. After my inspection and a keen eye for spiders she kills a few more for me all the while encouraging me that they are ok and will be fine left alone. Despite the walls being spider free I just feel like they are there lurking.
Instead of a mosquito net I set up my tiny REI backpacking tent on top of the mattress and get settled in. I'm then quickly rushed in to "bathy." After several repetitions of the word I realize I'm being asked to bathe. My mother pours a large basin of warm wash water and walks it to the narrow thatch bathing this shelter. This one thankfully looks much more recently constructed and is mostly bug free. I undress and bathe. The warm wash water feels good as I splash it on my skin in the cool evening air. I finally begin to relax a little as I process the events of the day. I finish bathing, put on some clean clothes, and squeeze the over sized plastic tub through the impossibly narrow entrance.
I'm called to dinner and join my mother and two sisters at the small coffee table for dinner. My mother serves up a large plate of food as if I'm a starving orphan and ushers me to start eating. Meanwhile my sisters gaze on in awe at the umusungu (white person) in front of them. Not quite sure what to say and with very little English  vocabulary they mutter something in another language and laugh.  I have no idea what is going so I just keep eating through the awkwardness of it all. Finally we wrap up dinner and I head to my hut for a much needed night of rest. This is when the real fun began.
Because of the previous encounter in the hut my plan was to rush to the tent and zip it shut to prevent any creepy crawlies from entering. I did just that. As I sat in the tent with a headlamp and my solar light I scanned the walls taking note of each intruder. Although perhaps I was the intruder. After all these spiders have called this place home far longer than I. 1,2,3,4,5 and so on I counted the number and varieties of spiders that crept down from the roof to the warmth of the bricks. I assured myself I had a barrier in between us and forced myself to close my eyes, but every time I did the outline of spiders haunted me.
I sat back up and kept the light on observing one particularly large spider with metallic eyes slowly make his way across the wall moving one long leg at a time. I checked back in on the spider wedged in the crack in the wall at my head to make sure he had not emerged. I took count yet again of the increasing number of spiders that had joined me to spend the night. Every time I shut my eyes the spiders grew bigger, so I quit trying to sleep. Finally I turned off the lights and laid still in the dark knowing there were spiders moving all around me, my irrational fear surmounting. It felt unreal. I thought this must be some kind of bad nightmare but hours later when I dared turn back on the light I found that this is no nightmare, this is Africa.
The hours toiled on as I laid and fantasized about horrible scenarios, prayed for freedom from this silly fear, journaled, and ached for sleep. But none came. What did come was morning. It found me sleep deprived and horrified. As the little pieces of light filtered through the slits in the brick I contemplated my exit strategy.
Luckily by this time a few of my roommates had retreated back to the thatching above the plastic where I can't see them. With several spiders still lining the walls I took a few deep breaths, unzipped the tent, and b-lined it for the door.
I had made it. Welcome to Africa.

Life in the homestay

Chim toilet.. can you say hole in the ground?

My hut

Chimbusu on left and bathing area on right

Fanwall-  little brother pretending to drive his auto

I am now posted to my 3 month homestay where I will reside until training is through and I swear in as an official PCV. I'm staying in the village of Suse in the town of Chipembi. I have my own two room brick and thatch hut, chimbusu (pit latrine), and bathing shelter but it is on the compound with my host family and I eat and interact with them regularly. My host family consists of my Bamaayo (Mother) Dorris, my Bataata (Father) Bruno, my two sisters (though they are just as "adopted" as I am) Eunice-age 16 & Phades- age 14, and my young brother Fanwell- age 5. I am learning the bemba lanuage though unfortunately the children speak mostly Nyanja which complicates the communication and language learning on my part. Luckily Phades has a basic bemba vocabulary and slightly less english vocab as she has been my main helper in getting around and doing things. Both of the host family parents speak english which makes communicating possible right now. I'm sure with time and the many upcomingg language lessons I'll become better able to use my bemba.
It is surprisingly cool here. It is winter right now and temps drop down to the higgh 40's- low 50's if I had to guess. The past two mornings I have been able to see my breath in the mornings. I usally wake up around 6:15 and eat breakfast shortly thereafter. I'm not normally an early eater but the couple km bike ride into the training center dictates that I eat. Zambians typically eat breakfast much later but our training schedule requires the early breakfast.
We train 8am-5pm Monday through Saturday with Sunday off to do chores, study, and have fun.  The training is jam packed with classes on language, culture, bike maintenance,  teaching instruction, health concerns, and projects. There are 30 total RED trainees and a pretty good sized staff of Zambians to assist us. My bemba language group ha 5 people and one instructor and we meet almost daily depending on the schedule.
Hopefully things will slow down a little after training.  The pace is a little crazy considering how much extra effort it takes just to maintain your home and self with none of the modern ammenities I had back home in Colorado.

Hello from Africa!

First of all let me apologize for the slew of posts at a time. While Zambia time is noteably relaxed Peace Corps time is a marathon race and I'm finally to a water station! The network here has been pretty unrealiable but I'd like to get a few things to show everyone if possible. Because things have been so hectic I'll likely post excerpts from my journaling to give you the freshest perspective on this new life and the many new experiences.

To give you a quick recap. In the last couple weeks I have:
Traveled from COS to Philly. Philly to Newark airport. NJ to South Africa. SA to Zambia. I stayed at a "hotel" for 3 days (where several of us didn't have water and when we did it was either cold or scalding hot. Oh yeah and several people got electricuted while bathing). I took a croweded land cruiser on an 8 hour drive through the bush to southern province to stay at site with a volunteer for 4 days. Then back to the hotel in Lusaka and finally a shorter but more crowded land cruiser ride to Chimpembi where we will conduct training for the next 3 monhs.

This is a journal excerpt from that first site visit on 6/16/14:
I need to sleep but how could I lying beneath this canopy of stars. Millions of tiny lights twinkle while the milky way ripples across the universe. Today is day 1 of first site visit. Maureen has been very hospitable and the crazy long shopping list we secured groceries according to wasn't even made by her. In any case the 5 of us won't go hungry. We rose early before the sun this morning to pack the cruiser and drive south through Lusaka to Choma in the southern province. The first group was dropped off 5 hours into our drive. Before leaving we had the pleasure of meeting the cheif of that region. After a quick lesson on how to greet and where to sit we were escorted to his "palace." That is what they are called but I use that term loosley as it was a cement house with ragged furniture and real windows. A palace for rural Africa indeed.  We sat while a few exchanged some Tonga dialouge and then we were each given a chance to introduce ourselves. Our group was split between two vehicles so only Sara and I had the pleasure of meeting the Cheif. Once we were excused/said goodbbye we jumped back into the cruiser and continued on to the southern provincial house. The "house" was much nicer than I anticipated. With 30 hostel style beds, a large kitchen, entertainment area with many couches, a garden, a basketball court or at least a hoop, and a couple bathroom areas they truely made it a little slice of America to escape to monthly for the volunteers. It is also the biggest prov house of the bunch so I won't get my hopes up too much. After we were spoiled with some cheese from the local co-op (curtesy of David after us practically beggging him to put some food in our bellies) we jumped back into the cruiser for the last leg of our journey to site. We've all decided Maureen is hooked up! She has a nice hut which she has renovated to make larger, cemented and painted the walls, and even has a tin roof. In addition she pretty much has the best Zambian family ever on her compund, cell service at site, and only a 12 min bike ride to her school. She teaches only 1 class period a day though she does many other programs. The southern province is known for the livestock and the host family has cows and lots of chickens. We will be learning how to milk the cows and kill a chicken tomorrow. I sat for a while with Maureen's host father and grandfather and got a small tonga lesson while asking about the village where 3 generations have resided. I think I can honestly say I've never met a kinder stranger than Ba Levius. He really loves Maureen as his own daughter. He says he will ask for another volunteer once her service is done. There will be 2 more after her since Peace Corps allows 3 generations of volunteers to serve at a single site, giving that area 6 years of service total. Whoever replaces her will have a sweet set up (too bad for us Maureen still has a year left.)

I'm here

Made it to my new home, Zambia.

Here we go!

The bus leaves for the airport soon! This time tomorrow I'll be in AFRICA!

Departure day

The fundamental principles of Tai Chi and Taoist living teach primarily two things:
To move through relaxation and to be empty.
 

Not by coincidence the scripture tells us to "be still" and " empty our cup before it can be filled".

I woke up at 5am in a state of "monkey mind" too much blood in the head. Thoughts racing: did I pack that,  what if I'm overweight on my bags,  how will I get to the hotel,  I never finished cleaning out my car,  do I have what I need for these next couple years, on and on my sleepless mind raced.  Until I decided to try to quiet that monkey mind of mine.
 

I took my tai chi master's instruction and sat up in bed,  rooted my tail bone,  raised my crown to heaven and with a mere 5 minutes and only a few minimal interruptions from the monkey mind I found peace.  I found silence and stillness.  Now I could talk to my God, now I could get out of my head and into his spirit.  Now I could rest. So with my short early morning meditation followed by prayer I went back to sleep.
 

I arose an hour or so later to a hug from my dad.  The sea of emotion had calmed from the earlier crashing waves to a gentle, soothing rock that bid me start my day.  I dressed, loaded my bags, and said my goodbyes.  My mom and I stopped for one last taste of the crack chicken I call chick - fil-a, and then we were to the airport.
 

The art of meditation (and anyone who can sit still longer than 5 minutes is a miracle worker in my book) is a lost art among our modern day culture.  I'm not saying people don't do it and do it well.  I'm saying our lifestyle has made it hard.
 

But after my encounter with peace this morning and experiencing, if only for a few mins, what it means to "be still and know that I am God" I think I will add this to part of my Zambia resolve.  Or perhaps it will be a tool to use in accomplishing that resolve to slow down and breathe in the beauty that surrounds us all.
 

It is in Zambia I hope to become the best me I can be. To Zambia!

BBQ

Thank you to all the friends who stopped by today to wish me farewell.

Everyone has a story

One of the interesting parts of telling people what I'm about to embark upon is that I get a lot of advice.  You see everyone has a travel story and even if it's not their story I usually get some recommendations based upon some framework of theirs. 

The advice stretches from things to bring, to things to look out for. But I think my favorite question so far has been "are you tough enough for that?" To wit I replied " Mama didn't raise no sissies!" (Yes I know I'm teaching English and yes I know that is not proper English.)

I think this concept of storytelling, of sharing life experiences is what makes us human. I also think it reveals an inherent desire to relate to our fellow man. At the same time it also demonstrates how different each one of us are and how differently we experience the world around us. One man's horror story is another man's paradise.  With that in mind I try to take all the advice and travel tales at face value while deriving the wisdom within. Remembering that my journey will be very different for many reasons.

My story will be carved out by my gender, my white face, my religious views, my profession, my ability to communicate even without knowing the local tongue, the relationships I form both with fellow PCVs and locals, my street smarts and how well I employ them, and even factors outside my control right down to the weather and the actions of others.

No matter how how my story turns out I know one thing. It will be uniquely mine and it will be beautiful.

Life continues with or without you

This past week has been a brutal reminder of the fact that time does not stand still while you serve in Peace Corps. Parents grow old, family evolves, friends move on.

Unfortunately I was reminded this as I prepare to attend the funeral of my last remaining Grandparent. Life has a funny way of working. Instead of using my plane ticket to see my Grandma for the anticipated last time I'm using my ticket to bid my farewells in a different manner.

The reality of this situation reminds me that life doesn't stop while I'm away. It reminds me how precious each and every day is with the people we love. It reminds me how numbered our days here on this earth really are. Most of all it reminds me what a blessing life is.

There are two sides to every story, however in this life you only live one. The path we choose today defines the very stories we tell tomorrow. One can stay and experience all the wonderful things that happen in the everyday life or one can go and experience the world for all that it is. Neither experience creates bad stories, just different ones than we might've told. And so my story unfolds.....

With this I leave you a a poem by Robert Frost- The road not taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.