Musamaria Wabwingo Orphanage

It is an unfortunate human failing that a full pocketbook often groans more loudly than an empty stomach.
-Franklin D. Roosevelt

The following are facts about Zambia provided by United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF).

Total Zambian Population (2006): ~12,000,000
Gross National Income (GNI) per capita (2006): US$630
Total Population under age 5 (2006): ~2,012,000
Number of new births annually (2006): ~470,000
Life expectancy at birth (2006): 41 Years
Annual number of deaths under the age of 5 (2006): ~86,000
Pediatric HIV, estimated number of children (2005): 130,000
Orphaned Children (age 0-17), orphaned by AIDS (2005): ~710,000
Orphaned Children (age 0-17), orphaned due to all causes (2005): ~1,200,000
Percentage of children (age 5-14) involved in labor (1999-2006): 12%
Percentage of children (age 5-14) who are married (1987-2006): 42%

What is the worth of a single human life? What if we’re talking about a child? A child without parents? A single child among millions in Africa? A child with HIV? A child with a disability? When a baby is born from where I’m from he/she immediately has a purpose. You might make a comment like, “She’s chatty like her mom” or “He’s gonna be the next pro golfer” or “It’s so great for so and so to have a little sister” or “We’ve already started a college fund for him.” At birth (and often before), each child in the Western World, of all shades and shapes, has been blessed with an intended life. Even if that child is born into a not-so-ideal situation you can assume that some person or social welfare system is rooting for that single child’s prosperity. Zambia has lots of children. I’ve attached a figure of the age distribution in Zambia. A lot of these children are without parents. Furthermore, many of these children are in single-parent households or in households with unemployed parents. A more alarming fact is that child abuse, physical and sexual, is common and sometimes expected. A study done by UNICEF (2001) explained that 72% of female children in Zambia experience a form of sexual abuse. 28% of Zambian male children were reported exposure to sexual abuse. Child abuse is a heart-breaking reality that I find is rarely talked about in this “conservative” country. It’s also not an uncommon story to hear of a ten year old child having to head a household.

With 1.2 million orphaned children, Zambia has yet another challenge it must face to pull itself out of the cycle of poverty. It’s all too common to be watching TV, reading the paper, or hear someone’s personal story regarding orphaned children in Africa. The problem feels so extensive and complicated, with no foreseeable future, that some times I feel uncomfortably helpless. I recently visited the Musamaria Wabwingo Orphanage. Lusaka alone has over 3 major orphanages (that I know of) and a handful of smaller homegrown ones. Musamaria Wabwingo was launched in November 2006 and has taken in 405 orphans and vulnerable children between the ages 3-16 to date. The orphanage provides provisions, counseling, spiritual and psychological support, and an element of education. It is fully funded through private donations without any help from the Zambian government.

I headed to Musamaria Wabwingo early on a Monday monrning. I went with three Swedish students here: Frida, Katarina, and David. We stopped by the store and bought huge bags of rice, cookies, a soccer ball and pump, and other toys on our way there. We visited a classroom of children between the ages of 3-7 (estimated). The room was made with concrete blocks with a small hole by the ceiling for ventilation, and without electricity. The children were singing songs, participating in call-and-response, and dancing when we arrived. Song and dance have strong roots in African cultures and it was neat to see it so integrated in the learning process. We sat and watched for the first hour and then got to teach the kids some of the songs we sang as children. The Swedes sang some songs about a frog without ears and a tail and then another one about a rabbit. It was in Swedish and funny to see grown adults jumping around. I taught the kids a song I learned at Girl Scout camp when I was younger called, “Down by the banks” and Old McDonald. The last song we all taught the kiddies was to “Shake your funky [insert animal and sound here]. Next was recess. We played some games and sang more songs. It didn’t take long for the children to warm up to us. For the rest of the morning you could guarantee a child holding on to each of your hands, one in your lap, and one checking out your hair. They were amazed that our hair was soft, long, and not black. Lunch came quickly. That day the children were supposed to have rice and sausage but on this particular day there was no meat available so the children ate only rice with salt. We passed out one cookie (that we brought with us) to each child. It is very likely that lunch is the only substantial food these children have each day. Again, heartbreaking. The afternoon ended with some of the older orphans visiting. They played a drum on an empty trashcan and danced. I left that day, surprisingly, more happy than sad. The children were all friendly, smiling, and lively. Another thing, they love getting their picture taken! It’s hard for me to look at my pictures from that day and read the statistics that I mentioned earlier. I can’t imagine these children experiencing violence, sexual abuse, neglect, and short lives due to HIV. But it is a reality. A reality that is scarring not only Zambia, but Africa and the world over.

See pictures from the day by clicking here.

Caption 1: The only time I saw the kids sit still. Their bellies must have been hungry! Caption 2: The age distribution in Zambia. A population pyramid for the US looks much different. Caption 3: Me and the kids after recess, all smiles.

Some Vic for your Falls

"No one can imagine the beauty of the view from anything witnessed in England. It had never been seen before by European eyes; but scenes so lovely must have been gazed upon by angels in their flight." -Explorer David Livingstone on first seeing Victoria Falls.

If there is one thing about Zambia that people everywhere are familiar with, it’s Victoria Falls. Located on the border between Zimbabwe and Zambia, it’s known by many as one of the most beautiful natural settings in the world. Water flows from the Zambezi River and plummets 360ft; it’s width, one mile. Historically, David Livingstone is the first recorded and well known European explorer to see the falls in 1855, he named it, in all its glory, after the Queen Victoria of England. Locals who had been living around the falls for centuries called the Falls in their own tongue, “the smoke that thunders”, or “mosi-oa-tunya”. With Cecil Rhodes’s Cape Town to Cairo railroad expansion, many tourist were able to visit Vic Falls in the early 1900s. Today, the two national parks on the Zambia side, Victoria Falls National Park (which, obviously, hosts the Falls) and Mosi-Oa-Tunya National Park (which boasts an amazing diversity of African plant and animal life) are relatively small but are visited by a million people annually.

Peter and I spent four days in the town of Livingstone, where Vic Falls can be visited on the Zambia side. We set out on a charter bus for the 8-hour drive to the Southern Province. To sum it up: the trip included 9 hours of heat with windows that didn’t open, seats that had metal sticking out of them, a mile long traffic jam in the middle of nowhere that we were able to walk around outside and check out the scene, and an hour of driving on pot holes that made it seem like we were riding in a Hot Wheels Bus over bubble wrap. We stayed at the Maramba River Lodge in a cozy “luxury” tent. Our Lodge was located on a tributary to the Zambezi, the Maramba River. In the mornings hippos waded in the water, and in the afternoons we were visited by baboons, and in the evenings, sly crocodiles. There are certainly fancy hotels that charge over $700/night but our cute little river lodge was exactly how we thought we should be experiencing Vic Falls. You can see my pictures from the trip by clicking here.

Day 1:
Our first whole day was spent at the Victoria Falls National Park, we could hear the crash of the water way before we even entered the park and we could see the spray of mist in the sky while driving in. Somehow, without knowing, we just walked into the park and missed admissions. Sweet! At least we saved money on something because the rest of the trip was a whole lot more expensive. We walked along the Zambezi River edge right up to the top of the Falls. I’m sure Peter and I have never been more in awe of something. We then followed the trails over to a side where we could see the face off the water falling. I started to get finicky about a little bit of mist getting me wet, but within the span of three seconds, I had gotten doused with a huge wave of water bouncing back onto a bridge Peter and I were crossing. It was cold, but felt good in the hot African sun. Peter and I ran around the trails and climbed rocks like little kids for hours. We kept getting splashed with water and were soaked to the bone. Afterward I walked to a stand that was selling African curios and bought a chitenge, a wrap of fabric that traditional African women often wear. We walked over to the Zambezi Sun, one of the luxury hotels, had a late lunch and basked in the delight of our day. That night we floated on a sunset cruise on the African Queen.

Day 2:
We woke up early, had some pancakes, and were picked up by our tour guide for our morning canoing on the Zambezi! We floated and steered down the Zambezi all morning. We saw more hippos, and little islands, and plenty of crocs. I think we found a new hobby! In the afternoon we were picked up for a tour of the Mosi-Oa-Tunya National Park. Right off the bat we saw a group of giraffe grazing. Giraffe are my favorite because they are so awkwardly beautiful with their long necks and buckling knees. Our tour guide was great, stopping to tell how villagers use particular plants and what the natural cycles of life are like for the animals. We saw plenty more animals that you can see if you look at the pictures I linked earlier. We were off to bed in our cute little tent early that night, preparing for another early morning.

Day 3:
We signed up for a half-day with a company called Abseil this day. Abseil is a company that provides activities for the most adventuresome at heart. We repelled down a long gorge wall that wasn’t all that scary. Next, we did a gorge zip line, still, nothing compared to what we did next. Lastly, we each had two runs at the gorge swing. This was 160 ft of free falling (which really means 160 ft of feeling like you’re plummeting to your death) following by a swinging back and forth in a huge gorge. I screamed like someone was chasing me through a dark alley (see video below) and Peter screamed like he was saying, “no, no, no”. At the time, I thought I had lost my mind to do something so scary and now that I look back on it I just laugh at how scared I was. We spent the second half of the day at Vic Falls, saying goodbye to it's splendor.

Day 4:
We left in the morning for the same bus ride back home. The bus was much more pleasant second time around and we were entertained with TV’s showing Nigerian movies and home-made Zambian music videos.

It’s difficult for me to put into words what an amazing place Victoria Falls is and the experiences we had in those few days. However, I am positive that the trip grounded and refreshed my interests in Africa. Southern Africa is rich with National Parks and amazing wildlife and I look forward to seeing more.

Captions: Picture 1: Peter and I posing with Victoria Falls behind us, then next pic we took we were soaked. Picture 2: The view of the sunset from an evening cruise we went on. Picture 3: Peter and I taking a break from rowing on our Zambezi River Canoing trip. Picture 4: Yay, giraffe!

African Freedom Day

Today, May 25, was African Freedom Day. It is also known as African Liberation Day. In April 1958, the first “Conference of Independent African States” was held in Accra, Ghana. Various political leaders got together for the first pan-African Conference ever held in Africa to form the Organisation of African Unity. African Freedom Day was created as one of the ways these leaders saw to unify those countries that had found independence, and those who were soon to follow suit. As it did in the 1960’s, “freedom” in Africa affects people of many shades and shapes. For example, in Zambia, Muslims and Hindus account for 24-49% of the total population. From top to bottom, Africa displays arguably the most culturally diverse population in the world.

Today, Peter and I hung out at the Kafue River Cliffs with a group of Hindi Indian friends that I’ve become pretty good friends with. We were picked up early and drove south for about an hour. The landscape was obviously beautiful and I relish in the days I can spend outside the urban life in Lusaka. The area we set up our braai at was cozy and private, but still full of different kinds of people who call themselves Zambian. To our left, was a group of black Zambians, to our right a group of Islamic Zambians, and the plot even further to the right was a group of British Zambians. A perfect illustration of “freedom” in a country that knew apartheid only 44 years ago.

We spent the whole day grilling, playing cricket and cards, walking along the shoreline, and taking lots of pictures. I’ve posted the pictures I took on Facebook and if you click here you can see them too. It was good spirits all around, and yet another African experience to put in my pocket. This “dark continent” has so many problems that seem to have no foreseeable solutions in sight. The Xenophobic riots that are currently creating problems in South Africa make it feel like perhaps even the most developed parts of Africa haven’t come that far since the first pan-African conference. But, in the end of the day, there are many small examples of “freedoms” that have been achieved, and I felt them at today’s braai. We can only hope that the next 44 years brings a clearer meaning to Africa Freedom Day.

Caption 1: This is the view of the Kafue River from where we were having our braai. Caption 2: This picture is of Peter and Annand Patel. We were playing a card game called, Cricket.

I have a visitor!

The last couple of weeks have been great. My boyfriend, Peter, arrived safe in Lusaka last Thursday and we’ve been enjoying each other’s company in the context of African life. I had a moment of shock seeing Peter turn the corner at the airport and wrap his arms around me. I barely was able to sleep the night before and was at the airport promptly at 630AM, waiting for Peter’s plane. When I finally got the embrace that I’d been waiting for since the day I left Nebraska, I thought my heart had stopped and I was floating over the scene. I guess you call these moments “out of body experiences.” It was like I didn’t recognize him. Up until now, I’ve made this place my home and there is not one part of my day that is familiar or similar to my life back in Nebraska. It just didn’t make sense in my dazed state to have a big part of my “familiar” life brought to me here in Lusaka. I am happy to say that it didn’t take long for Peter and I to get over the initial shock of being back together. We’ve spent this past week taking in the crowded streets of aimlessly wandering Africans, cooking meals that we would have never had in Nebraska, and simply “chilling out” to warm sunshine and cool breezes that dominate the everyday. One of the best parts of having Peter here is that we are both seeing a new side of each other. When we see a 14-year old girl carrying a baby on her back, we have a discussion. When we talk to a local about American politics, we are both seeing a new perspective our countries impact on the world. When we find trends in Zambian speech, media, clothing, education, travel, etc. We understand the importance of tolerance and one of my favorite topics, “co-existing”. I know that all of these things I am, and will continue, to experience on my own. However, having Peter here and experiencing these things along side him is beneficial for our personal growth AND further developing our relationship. The world gets smaller by the day. Looking at the front page of the of any news source will prove this. We always like to point out, “how many young couples our age get to experience this together? We are so lucky!”

Caption 1: Peter and I spent part of an afternoon watching Polo. We loved the sound of the horses galloping.

Rotary District 9210

I spent the majority of this past week at a Rotary District Conference. (Sorry, I wrote this a while back and never posted it. The Conference was May 7-10.) After days on end of talks about Annual Reports, State of the District, Future Visions, and Current Projects, I feel I have a much better understanding of not only Rotary and my host district here in Zambia, but also who and what is involved in a successful Foundation. Foundations, in general, are institutions with an endowment, funded by private and public donations, and usually invested in such a way to provide long term funding to that specific institution’s wants and needs. The biggest, and arguably, most recognizable Foundation, by means of assets and total giving, is the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation.

The Rotary Foundation is why I was personally was able to live this current year in Zambia. My scholarship, the Rotary Ambassadorial Scholarship, is funded partly from my host district in Nebraska, and partly from Rotary Foundation funds. The official objective of the scholarship is to recognize young adults as already displaying Rotary’s banner anthem, Service Above Self, and to promote world peace and international understanding by sending these young “ambassadors “ abroad to represent their home countries and further Rotary’s goals. In my opinion, the scholarship is generally successful with meeting these sorts of abstract goals, but furthermore it’s really about exposing young people to the diversity of the world’s cultures while they’re still malleable enough to see the benefits of using personal success as community investment

On a more personal note, I generally find conferences of all kinds full of people who maybe talk a little longer than they should, and meetings that probably could have been run more efficiently. However, conferences bring people together from various walks of life to find common ground regarding particular goals. I met Rotarians from Zimbabwe who kindly invited me to visit their homes and reassured me that I’d be safe with them. I met Rotary high school exchange scholars, one particularly, who has basically been living in the Bush and developing such a worldly view at such a young age. I networked, I ate, I listened, I learned, I Rotary Conferenced.

Caption 1: This is a picture of my scholarship coordinator, Harriet Simule, in her traditional clothing, and I. There was a braai (what they call BBQ's here) on one of the nights. Caption 2: This is a picture of General Moses Chipika, his wife, and I also at the braai. The General is currently training to become an Ambassador of Zambia! Caption 3: This picture is of Jolene, the high school Rotary scholar I mentioned earlier, and I at the Governor's Ball on the last night. Jolene stayed in the guest room at my house.

A lesson on Zambian Public Education

There’s lots of new happenings on my side of the pond. I have gotten through my first week of Public Health Classes and I have also moved into a new house. Lusaka is not a north/south east/west kind of city. It’s full of roundabouts, winding streets and sectioned off neighborhoods. When someone here asks you where you live, you name your neighborhood, which is usually following by a bunch of assumptions about your socioeconomic status. I now live in an area called the Woodlands. The Woodlands is full of huge houses, diplomats, doctors, and all those sorts of well to-do people. The house I live in is relatively modest compared to my neighbors’ so many people are making wrong assumptions about me. Here is a breakdown of my roommates:

Madeline is the lady of the house. She is of Dutch heritage, born in Iraq, and spent most of her adolescent years in Kenya. She works for the Center for International Forestry Research (CIFOR). She also has dreads.

Jason is Madeline’s boyfriend. He is Zambian and studies economics at Cavendish, a British University here.

Gina is an Md/PhD from Iowa who is working for Center for Infectious Disease Research in Zambia (CIDRZ)

In the guesthouse live two Brits that I have yet to meet because they’ve been on holiday (that means vacation here). They are:

Thomas is working on his PhD and studies the history of the mines in Zambia. His background is in geography.

Hillary volunteers with Bare Feet, an organization that works with street kids. She also has dreads

We have two dogs: Venice and Toby

A compete working staff live on the premises as well: Helen, maid; Moses, gardener and weekend gate guard; Wisdom, weeknight gate guard; and a girl who comes to clean the pool twice a week that I haven’t met.

The house is cozy and safe and it is five minute walking distance to the University Teaching Hospital where I spend most of my time.


I have a couple things I need to say about public education. I’ve been a part of the Nebraska public education system for a total of 9 years. In those nine years, I have never felt underprivileged or undereducated compared to my private school counterparts. I received a reputable bachelors degree and feel quite prepared to take on a professional career. In Zambia, however, if you are a part of the public education system here are some things you might experience: yearly strikes by either students, teachers, or administrators that postpone classes for months maybe years, not enough textbooks available for each student to have one, promised scholarships that never get dispersed, and classes that are taught by people who are more interested in self-promotion then teaching. So you think going to Research One institution makes the teachers not care about their students, try going to a University in the developing world where it’s difficult to even find teachers who will show up to class.

My MPH curriculum began on Monday and it can be summed up with that one reoccurring phrase: laid-back. I spent more time in the classroom this week waiting for lecturers to arrive than I did in actual lecture. For example, on Wednesday, nobody showed up from 9AM-230PM as it was indicated on our schedule. The most problematic part of this situation is that all of my 17 classmates have “real jobs” families and other responsibilities. There is no reason that they should be giving up their time to sit in a teacher-less class for all hours of the day when they could be doing much more productive things. After Wednesday I was thoroughly disappointed, not only because of my personal expectations, but also because I was concerned for my classmates. I’m not dependent on my education in Zambia as my only chance for structured, intellectual development, but my classmates are. Here’s a side lesson in Zambian culture: hierarchies are everywhere and are widely accepted and rarely challenged. This exists with race relations, the workplace, and certainly the classroom. As these lecturers came and went this week, the only thing I learned was my teachers believe that they are doing every Zambian a favor by staying and working here because they are overqualified and could be making much more money elsewhere. There was nothing about Zambian Public Health Policy, nothing about biostatistics, nothing about epidemiology. I was finally fed up with what was going on and went to the department heads. I expressed concern for my classmates and firmly requested a revised schedule that was true and some sort of syllabus. I even offered to write it for them and email the lecturers the night before as a reminder. On Friday morning when we arrived to class there was a new schedule and a prepared professor waiting for our curious minds. Later that day I was elected the class representative.

Caption: I made my housemates and a couple of friends a true Nebraskan meal. Twice baked potatoes, creamed corn, fish with a mayo spread, salad, spinach and artichoke dip, and cream cheese brownies. This is us out on the front patio waiting for dinner. From left to right: Hillary, Nayna, Hillary's friend, a girl that lived at this house before I did, Meera, Madeleen, Ruut (Madeleen's mum), Adelina, and Candy

Kuomboka

This past weekend I went to a traditional Zambian ceremony called Kuomboka. It is celebrated by the Lozi people of the Western Province every year. Zambia is divided into 9 provinces, which is then further divided into districts. The Western Province is most known for the Barotse Floodplain of the Zambezi river and a rural life that has, for the most part, yet to be influenced with 21st century amenities. Each year when the water levels are just right, following the rainy season, the Kuomboka ceremony takes place. Kuomboka literally means ‘to get out of water’ and it is at this time the Lozi king (theoretically) leads his people to higher and drier land. He begins his journey in the village of Lealui, the capital of the Lozi Kingdom in Lewanika’s time, to Limulunga, the summer or floodtime capital which is where the Litunga spends most of his time today.

The 7 hour bus ride to Kuomboka was just as much of a highlight as the ceremony itself. We left Lusaka around noon and headed west on what seemed like very up-kept roads compared to Lusaka's potholed mess. The drive out of Lusaka quickly turned into a picturesque landscape filled with tall grasses, trees, villages, monkeys, impala, maize fields, and people. I was so happy to be out of urban Africa and into the Bush. When someone in the States talks about driving through rural areas one can usually assume you'll see mile upon miles of agriculture and you don't expect to see another human being for hours on end. Rural Africa is full of people and human activity! Little clusters of huts lined both sides of the road for the entire trip, with the only exception of the Kafue National Park. The further west we drove the more narrow the road got. Grasses 8, 9, 10 feet tall created a topless cave. The people from the local villages were always walking in and out of the grasses, some with large buckets of water on their head, some with goods to sell, some riding their bikes, and others simply out to see the commotion of drivers passing through. As morbid as this sounds, I'm surprised we didn't hit anyone. The sun sets early right now because it's "winter." Winter here only means that the nights are cooler and the days are a bit shorter. No crazy, extreme weather patterns in Zambia. During the day the temperature always sits at about 77 degrees and the sun is always out. As we drove in the pitch black of night all the little huts disappeared and all that could be seen were little clusters of fires, waiting to cook dinner.

My group set up camp at a school in Mongu. Tents and sleeping bags were provided. Despite the air being filled with DEET bug killing spray and having no pillow, I slept great on hard African ground. Saturday was the big day. My group arrived at the Barotse Floodplane and hopped on a long motorized canoe-like boat. As we made our way onto the Zambezi River I found myself in a state of bliss: The morning breezes blowing in my face, the sun shining, people waving from the shoreline. I was happy. In these moments, I remembered why Africa can be so intoxicating. I was told that this part of Western Province is called "The Plains." How great, I'm from the Great Plains of the US! It did look a bit like home with flat land for miles. Except the trees are shaped different because of the continual intense sunlight and the color green is a new shade of green I've never seen. We eventually make it to our destination where we waiting to watch the Lozi king leave his palace. The rest of my day is a bit of a blur: lots of sitting and waiting to catch a glimpse of the king, taking cover from the masses of Lozi people trampling each other once the Lozi king finally appeared. In all honesty, I didn't even see the king I was too worried about dying in the mob (and loosing my group).

So in the end, I was happy to have traveled through the Western Province, take a boat ride, see rural Zambia, and witness a Zambian tradition (even if it was a limited glimpse). Tradition and cultural are uniquely human and can be nothing less of amazing. For those involved, it gives a sense of connectedness and identity. But, for those of us on the outside, we can watch and learn only with respect, and perhaps, learn more about our own identities all the while.

Caption 1: These guys were drumming in anticipation of the Lozi king. Caption 2: Do they mean Sexual Accidents are free or do they mean Sexual Accidents Free area? You decide.

Click here to see more photos from the trip.

A little jargon for ya

Here’s some Zambian (British influenced) lingo for you.
Crisps: Potato Chips
Biscuits: cookies or crackers
The Boot: the trunk of your car
Dodgy: dishonest or unreliable (ex: That car looks dodgy)
Proper: (of a person) good looking; satisfactory or correctly (ex: the bartender made me a proper drink); thoroughly (ex: I was fooled good and proper)
Smart: clean, neat, well-dressed (ex: Dress smart for the meeting.)
Another thing I’ve found myself doing, which I picked up from talking to people here, is ending all sentences with a question. Example: The weather here is quite nice. Yeah?

I moved into Chachacha Backpackers on Sunday night. It’s a nice hostel with patrons from all over the world, mostly those who are backpacking through Africa. I have my own room, which is quite expensive $25/day. I also pay 2000kw for every 10 min. of Internet usage. Today the exchange rate is 1 US Dollar = 3,627.00 Zambian Kwacha (kw). The exchange rate changes daily but usually stays between 3600kw-3800kw to 1 US dollar. The hostel also provides food, but naturally, for a cost.

I’ve been very lucky that I’ve made a couple friends who have cars. But soon I will have to start taking a taxi. There are two kinds of taxis here: Metered and unmetered. The metered taxis are registered taxis and are usually much more expensive. The unmetered taxis are unmarked and you can negotiate the price, but generally are pretty dodgy. I’ve been put in contact with an unmetered taxi driver, Isaac, who drives another American girl around that I’ve met. I’ve called him for a ride this afternoon and it will be my first experience with haggling a price. I’ll let you all know how I do. I often feel guilty about talking down a price when I know that I’d pay way more in the US, and because the person who made the item or providing the service is living in extreme poverty. I went to a craft market yesterday and bought a pair of earrings for 5000kw ($1.38). It is those people who are already wealthy that are charging ridiculous prices (e.g., the Zambian government, foreign business owners).

I went to the main UNZA (this isn’t the campus that I’ll be taking classes and working at) campus to try and register today. You’ve probably already guessed that I didn’t get anything done. In the States, we’re used to registering and paying for classes through some sort of online system. An information packet or orientation system is in place to learn the system. In Zambia, you just ask lots of questions. So, I showed up on campus this afternoon and asked the gate guards where I needed to go. They sent me to the School of Mines to register. But that wasn’t the correct place and the people at the school of Mines sent me to an Administration building. The administration building wasn’t the right place so they sent me to the Veterinary School of Medicine. That wasn’t correct so they sent me to the Education Building where the office of graduate studies is. By the way, there are no signs on this campus and it’s very spread out. Sweaty and dehydrated, I finally found the correct office. It was stuffy and crowded with people also waiting to register. I finally get someone to answer my questions and the lady who is supposed to register me won’t be back in her office for who knows how long. I’ve made an appointment to meet with her at 9AM tomorrow, but I have to keep in mind this place is laid-back. It might not happen tomorrow. So for now, I’m gonna belly up to the Chachacha bar and hang out with some traveling foreigners. Pass me a Mosi please!

Captions: First Picture: An organized or pick-up game of rugby or football can be seen in many open green spaces. Picture 2: This little boy’s name is Charley Bruce. He was hanging out with his parents at a bar that a couple friends and I went to for happy hour this past weekend. I love babies!

The good and the bad

Life in Lusaka has many appealing attributes. For one, it’s healthier to eat here. The market has such fresh produce that you could swear it was just picked off a tree. Many people also have their own gardens that they pull herbs and vegetables from for use at every meal. Another positive thing about Lusaka is the amount of generosity, hospitality, and cheerfulness that is embedded in everyday life. My host family brought me to an Indian function yesterday. By the time I left people where offering a home to stay in if needed and I played tennis today with a couple of the girls I had met. The warmness of the people has made my transition much easier. People are also really, and by really, I mean extremely, and by extremely I mean intensely, laid-back (I've always loved irony). I’m sure you get the point.

Here are some things I’m gonna have to get used to:
1.) The roads and erratic driving
2.) The inability Africans have making a deadline or appointment and sticking to it
3.) Zambia is a very poor country with, what it seems, only extreme poverty or expensive and modern lifestyles.
4.) Load-Shedding

1.) Lusaka’s infrastructure was mostly developed during the British colonial years (late 1800s-1964) and during Kenneth Kaunda’s reign (1964-1991). It has only been within the last 2-3 years that roads and buildings have had any renovations. Therefore, potholes dominate many of the roads, paved and unpaved. I have yet to see one speed limit sign and it wouldn’t matter because people have excessive road rage. It’s actually quite amusing to see my Rotary home host, Pankaj, lay into the horn and nearly side-swipe another vehicle when passing. Car owners must have working horns or you simply can’t communicate with anyone.

2.) As previously mentioned I was supposed to go to the University (UNZA) at 12:30 today to register for my classes and move into the housing that Rotary had set up for me. I sat and waited for General Moses Chipika, another of my Rotary hosts, to pick me up for a couple of hours before I realized that nobody was coming. I emailed the secretary that I was supposed to meet with and apologized for the situation. I later find out that UNZA is not even open until NEXT Monday. Of course it’s not! So why was an appointment scheduled? Why had I planned on moving today? It’s because this is how Africans preserve their laid-back, no-worries lifestyle. People make plans with little intention to follow through with it and if it doesn’t happen, no worries, there’s always tomorrow. Life moves at it’s own pace here.

3.) Pankaj drove me around Lusaka yesterday to help get me oriented. Africans walk up and down the middle of the road trying to sell you stuff at stoplights. There are street children begging for money. The low-income housing units are one-room concrete structures that have no running water or electricity. I was told that minimum wage was around $1/day. Charles, one of the workers at my current home, rides his bike here 2 hours every morning, works till 6:30, then rides his bike home for 2 more hours. He has three living children. He had a daughter die 2 weeks ago from diarrhea. I often wonder if I deserve the privilege that I automatically get from being born a white American. On the other side of the spectrum, wealthy people live in homes with tall concrete walls topped with some sort of fencing. They have servants, and most of the time, a pool. They drive nice imported cars and have traveled all over the world. I read anything I could get my hands on about Zambia before I left. I could tell you about their history, economy, AIDS prevalence, etc. But to actually see and live in what all this textbook knowledge teaches us can’t be explained in a blog. I’m using senses that I didn't know I had and having emotions that I don’t have words to describe. More about the topic of extreme poverty as I become more immersed at the medical school.

4.) Load-Shedding: “normally used in industrial, large commercial, and utility operations, is monitoring electric usage continuously (usually by automated instrumentation) and shutting down certain pre-arranged electric loads or devices if a certain upper threshold of electric usage is approached" (wikipedia). There are certain times of day where the electricity stops working in certain parts of Lusaka because there is such a high demand for it. I happened to be washing my clothes during one this morning and playing tennis during one tonight. Thus, resulting in musty clothes and “swing and miss” tennis. But should I really be making a fuss when over a million people living around me don’t ever have access to electricity?

Captions: (Picture 1) This is my wonderful Indian host mum. She's a traditional Hindi and therefore only makes delicious and spicy vegetarian meals. She even puts curry in some of her desserts! She's my go-to gal here for questions and advice. (Picture 2) These are two workers at my host home. Charles is on the left. He is Tonga. Boyd is on the right. He is Bemba. Both, however, can speek Nyanja. Nyanja is a Bantu language that is understood all throughout Zambia. I would like to pick up as much of it as I can while I'm here.

African Rule #1

Hallo! I have arrived in Zambia and I am safe, but of course, not without a good story.

Africa has it’s own set of rules. I think even gravity works different here. My plane landed in Lusaka an hour late and everyone climbed down the steps into warm African nighttime air. I followed the crowed of people to the airline terminal and into our respective immigration lines. There were four lines with signs that read: Zambians, Permit Holders, Diplomats and VIPs, and Visitors and Tourists. After a heartfelt and tearful see-ya-later 24 hours earlier in Omaha I was tired, jet-lagged, and completely unsure about what I had gotten myself into. I placed myself near the end of the Visitors and Tourist line mindfully watching the other foreigners ahead of me, trying to figure out protocol. Near the front of my line stood two heavily bearded men who appeared to be Islamic. One of the men was holding a huge bundle of foreign currency and the other holding a pile of passports. Each man looked flustered and frustrated arguing with immigration. As time went by all the people in the three other lines had their passports stamped and were on their way into the city while my line was still waiting on Muhammad and Osama. I was waiting in line next to Jeff, an Irish/South African/Zimbabwean. (All non-black Africans that I have met seem to have some sort of long complicated story of a nationality). Jeff and I made small talk about why we were in Zambia and hoped that our rides on the other side were being patient.

I eventually made it up to the immigration counter and I had my first interaction with “African rules”. The immigration guy checked my passport carefully and made me explain my purpose in Zambia. Apparently, my $100 student visa wasn’t enough and I needed some other authorization and blah blah blah… Is this when I’m supposed to hand over $20 and let the guy pocket it? I did my best to appear confident and talked my way into getting the guy to stamp my passport. Yay! I learned my first African rule. Rule #1: Always give off a confident air and if someone is hassling you act like you’ve got more time then they do to talk things over.

Happy that I got myself through the pickle I noticed that the only other people at the airport were workers. I have decided no matter where you are in the world, even in America, airport workers are rough looking people. I picked up my luggage and headed toward the exit. The bounce in my step quickly turned into a halt as I realized there wasn’t anyone there to pick me up. COME ON AFRICA! Give me some sort of break here. I have never been so scared in my life. All the sketchy airport people were staring at me. Then, Jeff approached me. He had noticed when he leaving there was nobody waiting to pick anyone up so he and his buddies that came to pick him up decided to wait for me. They told me they’d give me a ride to where ever I needed or I could stay with them. I could hear my heart beating. I had to make a choice: sit on the curb in the pitch black of night and get hassled by more airport people or get into a car with three male strangers. I chose the latter. The three guys had a female roommate, which made me feel only slightly more comfortable going to their house. They could tell I was very scared though and did their best to make me feel at home. I didn’t sleep much that night because

1. I was scared
2. I couldn’t find the light switch to turn off the lights
3. There were mosquitoes buzzing about
4. Dogs talk to each other at night in the form of howling and barking and cocks crow from 5:30 AM-7:30 AM

In the morning the guys dropped me off at a Rotary meeting and I got myself situated. I move into housing at the University on Monday and until then I’m staying with an Indian Rotarian and his mother. They make me delicious Indian food for every meal and they have wireless Internet in their home (which is almost unheard of in Lusaka). I’m spending my days sitting in their garden, journaling, and going on trips to the market. It’s nice to have a little tranquility and stability before I’m let loose again, on my own, on Monday to learn more “African rules”.

Captions: I am continually reminded that I am more afraid of spiders then they are of me. The second picture is of one of the workers mowing, but if you look closely you'll see that they plug the lawn mower in to the house.