Monday, June 30, 2014

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.

Sunday, June 22, 2014

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.)

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Here we go!

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

Monday, June 9, 2014

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!

Sunday, June 8, 2014

BBQ





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

Saturday, June 7, 2014

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.