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.