Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Scuba Diving

Hitch-hiking to Malawi was rather uneventful this time around. For half the trip I took proper buses to meet up with my 3 pals and we were off to conquer the great depths.
The day before we started the scuba course we had to do a bunch of paperwork. Which always stresses me out. Especially these days when I don’t know which name to use and who in which country is my emergency contact (I still put you Mom). My favorite part was the huge checklist of medical issues to prohibit one from swimming with the fishes. The kind of list you finish reading and automatically flex like a bodybuilder because you figure if all these things haven’t killed my incredible self than this somewhat dangerous activity has no chance.
Then we briefly met the man who was to be our instructor for the next 4 days. And that’s when my confidence of kickin scuba divin’s ass depleted –he was British. As in English. The people who speak gibberish. I can understand Scottish folk thanks to my Dad’s obsession with Braveheart but Im completely lost with Londoners. Luckily there is a lot of hand signals in scuba diving which Im great at thanks to softball. In fact, we invented many of our over the next few days. Most were along the theme of what one would expect coming from a group of health volunteers that routinely teach sex education. Extra points for signing behind the instructor’s back while a person was performing skills such as removing the mask and putting it on again. Which I was a victim of as I started laughing and choking violently and thought ‘well this it it, Im going to drown because of an obscene hand gesture.’
But before we could dive we had to do classroom work. Which meant I had to decipher a British description of another foreign language – physics. As if I have to understand density and thermocline in order to swim. Fuckever. As soon as he diagrammed a balloon, substitute your lungs, as bursting during ascent I was with the program. Keep breathing to equalize – no problem Im a breathing machine.
And then came the construction of the gear. So that we all felt like superheroes. Eventually. The first day I ended up drenched in sweat and bleeding. Apparently wet suits aren’t supposed to feel as tight as they look. And once I figured out all of the snaps, dials and buttons – I was no longer intimidated by the tank but feeling confident to discover the world underwater. Of course there was always the getting back into the boat after a dive. Going into the water from the boat was fine. Flipping backwards is just like falling, which my clumsy self is great at. But pull this 200 pounds back into the boat was a cruel joke by our British gnome friend. I even tried waving them off, ‘its cool, Im just gonna swim it in.’ But they insisted on a group effort to pull me in so that I ended every dive face-down on the deck, fins in the air, hyperventilating and flippin off my “supportive” laughing friends.
I will say that even though they had their shit together on land, I was most comfortable down under. Sinking is no problem and I was often found, sitting on a rock or chillin upside down while my friends took their precious time over-equalizing and finding ‘neutral buoyancy.’ Another stupid theory to describe going with the flow of maintaining a swimming level.
We went on 5 dives and saw some cool fish and rock formations. At the end of the course nobody could really hear and it took nearly a week for our ears to fully equalize. A week that I spent kayaking, snorkeling and cliff jumping.
During my travels back I sat by a woman with a disproportionate baby. Bottle head baby rocked and jiggled with every bump and the curiosity drove me to poke him. Which made him giggle and jiggle. When we arrived at the station the mom handed me the baby then disappeared for a nerve-wracking 15 minutes that I spent singing my hopes of mommy’s return for the top-heavy iwe.
Now safely back in Choma, Im starting off for the village today to have an important meeting where I beg for another family to let me live with them. I don’t have a specific family in mind, Im just going to sell my skills. Which now include scuba diving! That’s bound to impress these landlocked peoples.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Mid-Term Conference

In-Country Stats
Books Read: 98
Books Written: ¼
Snakes In Hut: 3
Snakes Killed: 0
# of exotic diseases self-diagnosed: 3
# of exotic diseases professionally diagnosed: 0
Rules broken: 4
Sunglasses owned: 2
Sunglasses lost: 2
# of people punched: 3
# of times I’ve been punched: 0
Weight loss: 15 pounds
Animals owned: 2
Animals I still own: 0
# of bike crashes: 5
# of knives owned: 3
# of knives I still own: 1
Songs written: 4

Things I’ve Learned
1. Rookie mistake of washing reds with whites applies to every color of Chitenges and your favorite shorts
2. Either name the bugs or kill them because staring at them just makes them scarier
3. The grit of dirt shines pots and pans. Its nature’s elbow grease.
4. Never take your hands off the handlebars.
5. Never wear tropicals when gathering firewood. Potential for machete slashing toes of trip/faceplant to the amusement of locals.
6. Its better to be polite than to be honest.
7. When running, never put the house key in your bra or it could be added to the list of things lost in the bush.
8. Always dance with rastas.
9. I should never own another pet.
10. People die.
11. Kids will do anything for sweeties.
12. Lusaka Zambians have no concept of Village Zambians.
13. Netball has no net.
14. I can start a fire with 1 match.
15. Organizations don’t care about people. People care about people.

It was great to see all my friends again. Besides social time though, the conference was a waste of time for me. Most people have moved on from HIV/AIDS to more tangible work such as agriculture and building projects. And I don’t blame them. It is disheartening to constantly face the beliefs that keep people from making decisions to protect themselves from something they will rarely publicly acknowledge. And it was even more frustrating to listen to the reasons administration is shutting down my program and my province. Because I don’t feel they are giving up on me but instead giving up on people that really need help. And that’s how I learned my latest lesson.
16. I lack the ability to bullshit.
Diplomacy is not a career for me. Which is fine. Because as far as Im concerned, it is a profession of dog-shit motives slicked in cookie dough breath.
I protest their filthy ways.
I attempt to fail at my ideals.

Tomorrow Im headed back to Malawi. This time Im taking a proper bus and meeting some friends. Im going to get scuba certified which Ive wanted to do for awhile. And hopefully I will dance with some rastas. Because that is always some fun. When I come back to good ole Zambia, Im having a village meeting to move because my wives left me and Ive realized I cant take care of myself. And I really want to live with a family. I hope yall are living it up in AmericaLand. Peace!