I love the relationships that are formed over a good meal. The cooking aspect is something Im slowly appreciating. The eating aspect is easier to appreciate. The way food opens the soul of conversation is a holy invention often manipulated by pride.
Thats why Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Everyone attempts to respect the holiness of communion and conversation of life flows as easily as a head wound.
On my first Thanksgiving out of the country I am spending the week with other development workers at the Namwianga Mission. Some of which develop the mind (teachers), the body (physicians), and the soul (missionaries). And throughout this time together the holy communion of dinner table conversation turns to the challenges in AIDS work.
The frustrations, the myths, the fact, the hopes, the plans of each worker for the people we are all growing to love. loving to grow?
Prevention to students?
Outreach to mothers?
Education of clubs?
I believe the key is behavior change. With something as abstract as a disease that takes time to infiltrate the body's defenses it seems education lacks impact. But how do you break the chains of tradition?
Hope of the future is often clouded by present horrors.
So how do you escape when trapped?
I believe behavior change is a direct result of relationship influence. Anytime I followed through with a decision it was based on the influence of my family and friends. Influences of encouragement. of fear. desire to imitate or to shed any resemblance.
So it seems that this united people of Zambia must unite with an Influence. People must come together to create behavior change.
For if one can infect so many with a disease than for hope of health to be contagious One must become Two.
Them must become Us.
You must become Me.
Food must become Talk.
Prevent.
Outreach.
Educate.
Above all, Relate.
Holy communion dinner table conversation - Where hope develops the mind/body/soul to change.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Juggling Thoughts
Help me.
His words are rattling in my mind like a continuous pinball machine.
The sound of them. The meaning of them. The honesty is the request.
Where is your pride? Help yourself!
Sustainable Development.
Teach me how to help myself. Help me to help me.
When you give are you supposed to care what the person does with the gift?
What is policy but the prevention of a broken heart and the redistribution of guilt?
_______________________________________
Lately people have been commenting on my walk. Ive never really thought about it. I walk how I feel. Agreenar loves it and says I walk like a soldier. Which makes me think of high steps and precision. Neither of which are my favorite things. So perhaps it has to do with confidence. Are you a head high and shoulders back or a looking at the grit in the ground type walker?
Im a roamer. My head is high so my vision can roam the sky. clouds, birds, the position of the sun. My eyesight darts among the tree trunks and I nestle my dreams in the leaves.
In small town life people always ask where your headed. Its disconcerting to them when I say I dont know. So sometimes I say the school or the clinic or my home. Depending on which direction Im meandering in. yes, meandering. This is how I walk. Sure, sometimes I have meetings and then I ride my bike. Because if Im supposed to be there then I would rather be There and not on my way. Which is why I like living where Im not supposed to be anywhere, because then its like I can be everywhere.
Meandering through towns, villages, roads and paths.
Through relationships, conversations, decisions.
A destination brings limitation.
My soul is shut up in confinement as the adventure of breath steadies.
Steady breath is disconcerting.
It inhales expectation.
It exhales results.
Yes, the way that I walk is meandering breath.
shallow and deep, short and drawn out, staggered and haughty, exasperating and demanding.
My breath
the barometer of my vision.
Is the Compass
of my footprints
Meandering through this disconcerting life.
His words are rattling in my mind like a continuous pinball machine.
The sound of them. The meaning of them. The honesty is the request.
Where is your pride? Help yourself!
Sustainable Development.
Teach me how to help myself. Help me to help me.
When you give are you supposed to care what the person does with the gift?
What is policy but the prevention of a broken heart and the redistribution of guilt?
_______________________________________
Lately people have been commenting on my walk. Ive never really thought about it. I walk how I feel. Agreenar loves it and says I walk like a soldier. Which makes me think of high steps and precision. Neither of which are my favorite things. So perhaps it has to do with confidence. Are you a head high and shoulders back or a looking at the grit in the ground type walker?
Im a roamer. My head is high so my vision can roam the sky. clouds, birds, the position of the sun. My eyesight darts among the tree trunks and I nestle my dreams in the leaves.
In small town life people always ask where your headed. Its disconcerting to them when I say I dont know. So sometimes I say the school or the clinic or my home. Depending on which direction Im meandering in. yes, meandering. This is how I walk. Sure, sometimes I have meetings and then I ride my bike. Because if Im supposed to be there then I would rather be There and not on my way. Which is why I like living where Im not supposed to be anywhere, because then its like I can be everywhere.
Meandering through towns, villages, roads and paths.
Through relationships, conversations, decisions.
A destination brings limitation.
My soul is shut up in confinement as the adventure of breath steadies.
Steady breath is disconcerting.
It inhales expectation.
It exhales results.
Yes, the way that I walk is meandering breath.
shallow and deep, short and drawn out, staggered and haughty, exasperating and demanding.
My breath
the barometer of my vision.
Is the Compass
of my footprints
Meandering through this disconcerting life.
Friday, November 14, 2008
2 Days in a Row!
So I had to come back into town today because damn cows broke into Agreenar's garden and ate everything. So Im buying seed and food for us. And you people are blessed with another story that I wrote awhile back. Im thinking about staying the night so maybe I will post again tomorrow. but no promises...the old korean man sitting next to me just answered his phone, the ring tone was 'the boots with the fur' song. WOW!
Hankering for Ammenities
Two seasoned PC vets, Persian and Polish, cycled to my hut for a day visit. They were amazed at my lack of ammenities. I was surprised there were such things as ammenities in this country.
"ya know, things with batteries." i dont have any batteries.
"no ipod, no radio, no magazines from home, no game boy." says Polish. "And (gasp) your books are mostly non-fiction. You dont even have a fork." Persian, looking very concerned for my mental health, says "What do you do when you get bored?" oh, I get hankerings. "you what?"
Sometimes I get these hankerings. Its not so much a wanting to do something or even a need. Its like a subconscious obligation manifesting itself in your physical body. It is indeed a hankering. The other night I was thinking I was going to sleep. I had blown out the candles, tucked myself inside the force field mos net and yet I had a hankering. I should have known it was coming since I had a boring day but the muscles in-between my shoulder blades were twitching. Tossing and turning and singing a lullaby had no effect. It was Slim Jim time.
Slim Jims. Those slim sticks smoked snacks that require a snap! I had recently acquired a box of slim jims from my grandma. And much to my surprise even though the box advertised 5, when I opened it there were 7 sticks. The perfect amount for my hankering. But after three, I had another hankering.
This one came with a dilemna.
You see I really wanted a mountain dew. But since I live in the bush, there is nowhere to do the dew. (plenty of space to do the deed, but thats another blog)
But being resourceful like a good PCV I remembered I had some powdered drink mixes graciously bestowed upon me by my over-prepared pal. So I killed all the ants surrounding my water filter and set about measuring out my sugary powders into a sweet shake in accordance to what I imagined would be the eqivalent of mountain dew's delicious recipe. And using the scientific method of hypothesy, experiment and observation - - I am here to testify that if you drink lemonade and green tea with the aftertaste of slim jims still tinkling your tastebuds, while chanting (do the dew, do the dew) in your mind -- it does in fact seem like one could possibly be drinking a third world's version of Mountain Dew.
The vets werent that impressed. So I mentioned that Im writing a book.
"about what?"
the meaning of life.
"so about nothing?" polish deduced.
or everything, the two really arent that different.
Then Persian stood, "Well, I have a hankering for a Super Maheo." Since Im still new to the Zambian snack culture, I had no idea what a Super Maheo was. Only that it made me think of Super Mario Brothers. Which made me remember Polish inferring that some bastard in country had a game boy. Knowing I should take this opportunity to support a fellow PCV's hankering (and gather more information on possible ammenities) we started walking to Shady Ave.
Shady Ave is a brisk 10 min stroll from my hut. If you like taking brisk strolls in the middle of the day. I dont, so I rarely venture out to this business district.
During the walk Persian took the time to describe in unneccessary detail the ins and outs of Super Maheo --"an energy drink manufactured in Zambian's thriving national capital out of maize and fruit flavors. strawberry banana being the best and buttercream the worst" --before I could interject with the fact that neither butter nor cream were fruits, we arrived at the ave.
Polish marched confidently into the first shop and as I meekly followed my eyes burst open with glee. boom (zam soap), sugar, flour, biscutts, girlfriend (zam lotion), etc. Who needs ammenities when I have Shady Ave! The propietor said he only had buttercream super maheo. Persian was noticebly disapointed. But to Polish's surprise, this lovely establishment was stocked with Yess! drinks.
So we purchased three bottles and stepped outside. I felt a bit betrayed as I had just spent time learning the history of Super Maheo and I didnt want to prostitute my tastebuds. But without having a proper introduction to Yess! I ripped off the lid and took a swig.
Polish was saying that this flavor happened to be one of her favorites. But I wasnt listening because I knew this flavor. It was like drinking lemonade and green tea with a slim jim aftertaste. Persian remarked, "yea, it reminds me of something back home." yea, I stammered, its the third world's version of attempting to do the dew.
Polish, "what?"
I mean, its my ammenity.
Persian and Polish, sweat glistening on their foreheads as we briskly strolled, beamed with the pride of vets witnessing the maturing of a rookie. Needless to say I was refreshed but now that I have this hankering for Super Mario brothers...
Hankering for Ammenities
Two seasoned PC vets, Persian and Polish, cycled to my hut for a day visit. They were amazed at my lack of ammenities. I was surprised there were such things as ammenities in this country.
"ya know, things with batteries." i dont have any batteries.
"no ipod, no radio, no magazines from home, no game boy." says Polish. "And (gasp) your books are mostly non-fiction. You dont even have a fork." Persian, looking very concerned for my mental health, says "What do you do when you get bored?" oh, I get hankerings. "you what?"
Sometimes I get these hankerings. Its not so much a wanting to do something or even a need. Its like a subconscious obligation manifesting itself in your physical body. It is indeed a hankering. The other night I was thinking I was going to sleep. I had blown out the candles, tucked myself inside the force field mos net and yet I had a hankering. I should have known it was coming since I had a boring day but the muscles in-between my shoulder blades were twitching. Tossing and turning and singing a lullaby had no effect. It was Slim Jim time.
Slim Jims. Those slim sticks smoked snacks that require a snap! I had recently acquired a box of slim jims from my grandma. And much to my surprise even though the box advertised 5, when I opened it there were 7 sticks. The perfect amount for my hankering. But after three, I had another hankering.
This one came with a dilemna.
You see I really wanted a mountain dew. But since I live in the bush, there is nowhere to do the dew. (plenty of space to do the deed, but thats another blog)
But being resourceful like a good PCV I remembered I had some powdered drink mixes graciously bestowed upon me by my over-prepared pal. So I killed all the ants surrounding my water filter and set about measuring out my sugary powders into a sweet shake in accordance to what I imagined would be the eqivalent of mountain dew's delicious recipe. And using the scientific method of hypothesy, experiment and observation - - I am here to testify that if you drink lemonade and green tea with the aftertaste of slim jims still tinkling your tastebuds, while chanting (do the dew, do the dew) in your mind -- it does in fact seem like one could possibly be drinking a third world's version of Mountain Dew.
The vets werent that impressed. So I mentioned that Im writing a book.
"about what?"
the meaning of life.
"so about nothing?" polish deduced.
or everything, the two really arent that different.
Then Persian stood, "Well, I have a hankering for a Super Maheo." Since Im still new to the Zambian snack culture, I had no idea what a Super Maheo was. Only that it made me think of Super Mario Brothers. Which made me remember Polish inferring that some bastard in country had a game boy. Knowing I should take this opportunity to support a fellow PCV's hankering (and gather more information on possible ammenities) we started walking to Shady Ave.
Shady Ave is a brisk 10 min stroll from my hut. If you like taking brisk strolls in the middle of the day. I dont, so I rarely venture out to this business district.
During the walk Persian took the time to describe in unneccessary detail the ins and outs of Super Maheo --"an energy drink manufactured in Zambian's thriving national capital out of maize and fruit flavors. strawberry banana being the best and buttercream the worst" --before I could interject with the fact that neither butter nor cream were fruits, we arrived at the ave.
Polish marched confidently into the first shop and as I meekly followed my eyes burst open with glee. boom (zam soap), sugar, flour, biscutts, girlfriend (zam lotion), etc. Who needs ammenities when I have Shady Ave! The propietor said he only had buttercream super maheo. Persian was noticebly disapointed. But to Polish's surprise, this lovely establishment was stocked with Yess! drinks.
So we purchased three bottles and stepped outside. I felt a bit betrayed as I had just spent time learning the history of Super Maheo and I didnt want to prostitute my tastebuds. But without having a proper introduction to Yess! I ripped off the lid and took a swig.
Polish was saying that this flavor happened to be one of her favorites. But I wasnt listening because I knew this flavor. It was like drinking lemonade and green tea with a slim jim aftertaste. Persian remarked, "yea, it reminds me of something back home." yea, I stammered, its the third world's version of attempting to do the dew.
Polish, "what?"
I mean, its my ammenity.
Persian and Polish, sweat glistening on their foreheads as we briskly strolled, beamed with the pride of vets witnessing the maturing of a rookie. Needless to say I was refreshed but now that I have this hankering for Super Mario brothers...
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Mario Kart
(dedicated to Axel)
Well by now its no secret that Im an excellent bike rider. Part of the thrill is riding by those mere pedestrians and noticing their eyes widen while getting a full view of my kneecaps. Because I wear long shorts and not a long skirt. Dont call me a rebel, Im a freebird!
Anyways, after successfully maneuvering the main roads I decided it was time to take it to the bush. And now I dominate every footpath cutting between fields and trees. The great thing about riding in fields is the raised ground that make the rows. Its like a bunch of speed bumps lined up for me to race over.
And that is exactly what I do.
I race over the bumps just like in Mario Kart and Ive even started throwing stuff behind me. Which turned into a bad idea rather quickly.
You see, sometimes kids chase bikes. Its like the third world's version of kids and the ice cream truck. Except I wasnt playing an annoying and enticing song...and the kids were in for more of a trick rather than a treat.
Well you can imagine what was coming when I started chucking the hollowed shells of fruits over my shoulder while declaring in a high-pitched voice "Im the best" just like Toad passing that bastard Wario.
And just like the Princess (sporting a smirk just because she is the only girl) on of the kids whipped out their slingshot. At this point Im extrememly grateful for two things. 1. Peace Corps makes us wear helmets. 2. Big sunglasses were back in so I had substantial eye protection.
I knew just how important this protection was because my sister had once been hit in the eye by a punk kid and I knew they would actually shoot at me because of an incident back during training a few months prior.
(thats right, this situation was in no way a rookie mistake)
I was hanging out outside the local bar with my friend. While we sipped Castles (the cheaper but surprisingly tastier Zambian beer) I practiced my new slingshot. The slingshot was made by my buddy Philip, the only fat kid in Africa.
A group of young boys peaked their heads around the corner of the bar and flashed the up-to-no-good grins that only young boys and foreign kids have perfected. Then the tallest led the group out to walk in front of me like those ducks you shoot at the fair. They each carried a slingshot. It started innocently enough. I was laughing and they were laughing. We were hiding behind trees. But then I guess our aim just got better or the Castle soaked in enough to sufficiently warn me:
This was no longer a playground.
This was a battleground.
My friend had decided we should head back. She is the sane one while slightly buzzed. I, on the other hand, and The Punisher.
So as we turn to leave and my bitterness is rising because I wanted to stay and play, I got hit square in the back of the neck.
And I lost control. Knowing my throwing arm was much more reliable, I ditched my slingshot and started throwing rocks.
I was throwing rocks at children. African children, which is worse because everyone grows up feeling guilty for them. "Dont waste your food! African children are starving." "Hang up your clothes! African children are naked."
Well, African children have good aim!
My friend had already considered the method of buying our freedom from being stoned. She held up salad cookies and as the kids enjoyed their treat we ran away. literally, ran.
If I was ashamed back then, I was mortified I found myself in the same situation. And this time without a friend.
I needed a boost. One of those freaky mushrooms that give you extra speed so I could ZoomZoom out of the danger zone. So I thought of something that ignites just as much fire. The Brazilian-Argentinian futbol feud. My legs pumped for Ronaldinho.
And I sped through the rows, jumping over half broken maize stalks (wondering why they couldnt watch Barney like 'normal' kids) and cursing the fact that these kids know where I live.
And thats when I thought it was my skin to blame. They knew me, I stuck out. They didnt chase all the other bikes, only mine. It must be my revealing kneecaps!
Maybe next time I'll ride in white skinny jeans.
_______________________________________________
Not everyday is a funny day. But I guess I just find the funny stories easier to explain. Humor makes sense to me. Things like poverty, sickness, grief, starvation do not make sense. The swollen bellies of babies. The patches of raw skin scabbed with disease lurking underneath.
Missing hair, missing teeth, missing nails.
A father's request for lotion to soothe his child's aching sores. A mother desperately selling the rooster for money to take her daughter to the hospital for medicine.
Im surprised when I see a child with shoes.
Im surprised when a man declares his job and by the look of his cleanly pressed trousers he really takes his responsibility seriously.
The old and the young. A whole generation missing between.
And they come to me
Asking
Pleading
Laughing
Giving
Dying
And I teach. I give what I have but not always cheerfully. How can you smile when your feeding a group of kids grilled cheese sandwiches and they stare, confused, trying to figure out 'what is cheese.'
How can you smile when your explaining oral rehydration salts to a mother so her son wont literally waste away?
How can I ever think that its just a job?
Well by now its no secret that Im an excellent bike rider. Part of the thrill is riding by those mere pedestrians and noticing their eyes widen while getting a full view of my kneecaps. Because I wear long shorts and not a long skirt. Dont call me a rebel, Im a freebird!
Anyways, after successfully maneuvering the main roads I decided it was time to take it to the bush. And now I dominate every footpath cutting between fields and trees. The great thing about riding in fields is the raised ground that make the rows. Its like a bunch of speed bumps lined up for me to race over.
And that is exactly what I do.
I race over the bumps just like in Mario Kart and Ive even started throwing stuff behind me. Which turned into a bad idea rather quickly.
You see, sometimes kids chase bikes. Its like the third world's version of kids and the ice cream truck. Except I wasnt playing an annoying and enticing song...and the kids were in for more of a trick rather than a treat.
Well you can imagine what was coming when I started chucking the hollowed shells of fruits over my shoulder while declaring in a high-pitched voice "Im the best" just like Toad passing that bastard Wario.
And just like the Princess (sporting a smirk just because she is the only girl) on of the kids whipped out their slingshot. At this point Im extrememly grateful for two things. 1. Peace Corps makes us wear helmets. 2. Big sunglasses were back in so I had substantial eye protection.
I knew just how important this protection was because my sister had once been hit in the eye by a punk kid and I knew they would actually shoot at me because of an incident back during training a few months prior.
(thats right, this situation was in no way a rookie mistake)
I was hanging out outside the local bar with my friend. While we sipped Castles (the cheaper but surprisingly tastier Zambian beer) I practiced my new slingshot. The slingshot was made by my buddy Philip, the only fat kid in Africa.
A group of young boys peaked their heads around the corner of the bar and flashed the up-to-no-good grins that only young boys and foreign kids have perfected. Then the tallest led the group out to walk in front of me like those ducks you shoot at the fair. They each carried a slingshot. It started innocently enough. I was laughing and they were laughing. We were hiding behind trees. But then I guess our aim just got better or the Castle soaked in enough to sufficiently warn me:
This was no longer a playground.
This was a battleground.
My friend had decided we should head back. She is the sane one while slightly buzzed. I, on the other hand, and The Punisher.
So as we turn to leave and my bitterness is rising because I wanted to stay and play, I got hit square in the back of the neck.
And I lost control. Knowing my throwing arm was much more reliable, I ditched my slingshot and started throwing rocks.
I was throwing rocks at children. African children, which is worse because everyone grows up feeling guilty for them. "Dont waste your food! African children are starving." "Hang up your clothes! African children are naked."
Well, African children have good aim!
My friend had already considered the method of buying our freedom from being stoned. She held up salad cookies and as the kids enjoyed their treat we ran away. literally, ran.
If I was ashamed back then, I was mortified I found myself in the same situation. And this time without a friend.
I needed a boost. One of those freaky mushrooms that give you extra speed so I could ZoomZoom out of the danger zone. So I thought of something that ignites just as much fire. The Brazilian-Argentinian futbol feud. My legs pumped for Ronaldinho.
And I sped through the rows, jumping over half broken maize stalks (wondering why they couldnt watch Barney like 'normal' kids) and cursing the fact that these kids know where I live.
And thats when I thought it was my skin to blame. They knew me, I stuck out. They didnt chase all the other bikes, only mine. It must be my revealing kneecaps!
Maybe next time I'll ride in white skinny jeans.
_______________________________________________
Not everyday is a funny day. But I guess I just find the funny stories easier to explain. Humor makes sense to me. Things like poverty, sickness, grief, starvation do not make sense. The swollen bellies of babies. The patches of raw skin scabbed with disease lurking underneath.
Missing hair, missing teeth, missing nails.
A father's request for lotion to soothe his child's aching sores. A mother desperately selling the rooster for money to take her daughter to the hospital for medicine.
Im surprised when I see a child with shoes.
Im surprised when a man declares his job and by the look of his cleanly pressed trousers he really takes his responsibility seriously.
The old and the young. A whole generation missing between.
And they come to me
Asking
Pleading
Laughing
Giving
Dying
And I teach. I give what I have but not always cheerfully. How can you smile when your feeding a group of kids grilled cheese sandwiches and they stare, confused, trying to figure out 'what is cheese.'
How can you smile when your explaining oral rehydration salts to a mother so her son wont literally waste away?
How can I ever think that its just a job?
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