The Western Wuss

By 10.30AM two years ago, in October 2008, I would have gotten myself to work, checked my email, opened the post, and had my cup of tea and toast with the girls. By 10.30AM last year, in October 2009, I would most likely be standing outside of a Wal-Mart, jar in hand filled with maybe $25 in coins and $1 bills if I was lucky. In my hand would be a sign reading “Help Africa”. I don’t know exactly how I am helping Africa here in Mazabuka, Zambia, except maybe by observing its seemingly successful TCE project in the hopes of learning enough here to help our project in Katima.

This year, 14th October 2010, it is 10.30AM. So far today I have eaten a breakfast of nshima and sausage, observed Peter, a Field Officer, give an HIV test to a (thankfully HIV negative) man at the clinic, met the village meadman, tried my hand at Tonga, the local language (“Mabagabute…Kabuto” / Good morning…I am fine…) to the amusement of many local people, and walked one and a half hours in the 95F/39C degree heat to begin our day of VCT (Voluntary Counseling and Testing). What in the world will I be doing in October 2011?

For a continent so often portrayed as a single country, it is interesting how unique each country and people are. Three hours drive down a dirt road from the nearest town, I find myself in Nkonkola for a two night field visit. It is the furthest out into the bush that I have ever been and feels completely isolated. It is very similar to what I have seen in the field in Namibia, and yet it is different. While the landscape is as African-esque as Namibia, it is at the same time completely different. It is a landscape of undulating hills and red sand roads, the pale yellows and browns of the grasses and fields dotted with picture perfect green mango trees, almost cartoon like in their roundness and fullness. In many ways it reminds me of South Africa or even parts of Spain. The homesteads are different too. Not as beautiful as the mopane fenced compounds of Owamboland but neater and more established to many of the ones I am used to seeing in Caprivi. They are comprised of many red circular thatched huts and raised chicken and goat pens made of yellow straw. There is at least one tree in the yard to give shade and innumerable short squat wooden stools to bring over for us visitors – they look scarily unstable but are surprisingly worn and comfortable and I want to take some home.

The people in Zambia are incredibly friendly. This doesn’t mean that there aren’t incredibly awkward moments. Because there are. My tolerance for awkwardness seems to be improving. The trick is to breathe through it. But in general I have found the people to be warm, hospitable, and above all, they have a sense of humour, a sense of life. In the week and a half I have been here in Zambia I think I have known more people better than in the three months I have spent in Katima. Which, in a way, makes me feel a little better, as if its not my fault, not some anti-social or unlikeable personality trait that has led to us not getting very close to many local people or people at the project. For instance, Kabwe, who we live with, cooks dinner for us every night and showed us her family picture album, including seven siblings who have died, six of whom I am pretty sure have died of AIDS (side note: when you start talking to people, it is amazing just how widespread and pervasive this disease is for the people and the countries of sub-Saharan Africa).

But while incredibly friendly, the people here are still different, and I have been confronted with out different worldviews more bluntly here in this village than in the towns I have spent most of my time in since arriving in Africa. I knew that Africa is an extremely religious continent but this was brought home to me within my first half hour here when Stanley, a Field Officer, asked me, “So what Church do you belong to?” “None” I replied. Normally people say Oh, and move on or look vaguely amused at the novelty of it all, but Stanley just looked at me blankly and said, “Why?”. How do you answer that? I’ve actually never been asked that question in that way before – he wasn’t asking because he was curious, he was asking because he genuinely didn’t understand. His understanding of the world didn’t allow for someone to not have some sort of religion. Later that night, a similar differing in understanding about the basic things in life occurred, again phrased with the same single word and the same meaning. “How many children do you have?” asked one of the guys who works at the clinic. Not do you have children, but how many. “None” I replied. Again, the blank expression, not of curiosity or confusion but of incomprehension. “Why?” he asked.

Still, while I don’t know the intricacies or complications of their lives, there is something admirable in how comfortable and accepting people seem to be in the routines of their lives. And I in no way mean that in a condescending way. While I, at age 26, have travelled and studied and still don’t know who I am or how I want to shape my life, those here without the luxury of the ability to seek ‘self-fulfillment’ simply get on with life. And maybe, in the process, discover it themselves.

I sit here on a stool dripping in sweat, recovering from my day of trekking this hilly, sweltering hot land in my expensive REI Keens and backpack full of Nalgenes, feeling pretty proud of myself for having survived, for successfully ‘roughing it’. And as I sit here I watch as a woman maybe five years my junior with a baby tied to her back pumps water into a 10 litre jerry can, lifts it onto her head and walks straight backed down a path to her home in the 100 degree heat. This simple action that the woman probably performs two times a day is, to me, admirable. There is no sign of dissatisfaction or complaint about the extreme physical exertion; I am sure to her her world makes sense. The unconscious strength of the young woman so at ease in her life, in her environment stands in stark contrast to my seemingly perpetual state of limbo, both here in Africa and in my life.

Because all of us DI’s are in our own ways Western wusses, here to teach and to learn but also observe another way of life that is foreign to us. I both enjoy and struggle with field visits. I like meeting people, laughing with people as they laugh at my attempts at the local language, I like waving at the kids gathered round me wherever I go, sending them into peals of laughter as they sprint away, I like to meet the people whose lives are directly effected by all the theory I have read about both on HIV/AIDs and the TCE program, I like to help someone in my own small way by giving advice about nutrition or clean water. I do not like the conditions. I am a wuss, my body is a wuss, and Africa is not going to change that. Today’s five hour excursion in the 100 degree heat under an dunrelenting sun was tough. Even though I drank almost 2 litres of water, by hour three I was dreaming of iced tea. As I sat under a tree on a well-worn stool, observing Peter test a client for HIV (10 people tested today, all thankfully HIV negative) as the conversation in Tonga swirled around me, I couldn’t stop thinking about my Aunt Liz’s fridge. The white beacon of coolness loomed in front of me. It represented the chilled blueberries, bananas and yogurt that I knew were there if only I could open it. Walking the one and a half hours back to Nkonkola, I watched Peter swing the small green cooler that held all his VCT testing supplies and was transported to summer days at the beach. Coolers full of cold drinks. Grapes. Watermelon. And most tempting – a chilled, perfectly ripe peach. Mmmmmm. Yes, I am a wuss.