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.
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