I dove right into work when we returned to the village, but unfortunately the teachers with whom I had projects planned failed to return from Kasama. They were supposed to be gone for two days, but they've been away for over two weeks, while their students have not been attending school during this time. I had planned to teach English to interested kids twice a week, help implement the new School Health and Nutrition Programme, and begin adult literacy classes. Only the adult literacy has panned out, and poorly at that. My counterpart was to teach literacy in the local language to a large group of enthusiastic women, but he's proved to be unreliable, despite repeated warnings. I have only held one class so far in upper-level English, but my section seems to be going well. The first class I had two men, whose end goal is to achieve their grade 9 certificates, which could offer them more career-wise than just being subsistence farmers. I've since had another four people sign up. One of the men in my class is also taking guitar lessons from Chris. I've usually stayed out of these lessons, so I didn't know him well, but he's very nice. He stayed an hour after to tell me his life story, which I always take as a sign that someone likes and trusts you.
One of the things I need to work on with my students is the distinction between he versus she. I am often called Mr. Nikki. In icibemba, there's no such distinction between male and female, only between ages. If, for example, you say baleisa, it can mean either he is coming, she is coming, or they are coming. Ba is the person, le is present tense, and isa is from the verb ukwisa. If you wish to talk about a younger person, whom you don't have to show extra respect to, you say aleisa.
In Lusaka, I purchased a bag of tennis balls and a soccer ball to bring back to the village. Often, when the blistering hot day is melting into night, we've been playing catch with the children. It started out as monkey in the middle but morphed into two teams, each keeping the ball away from the other team. One game turned into boys against girls as more children joined, with about two dozen laughing, barefoot children running in the sand in front of our house. When the oldest children, in their early teens began to play, the youngest ones were a little left behind. Muso and Beauty are only about five-years old, so they'd hang onto my arms and make me promise to pass them the ball. I did, and they'd take it and run determinedly and hand it to another older girl.
Our puppy continues to grow, but after meeting other dogs in the village, we've found something interesting; she is the only dog in our village that isn't named Tiger or Danger. When I mentioned to my counterpart, Ba Catherine, that all the dogs seem to share one of these names, she laughed and said, "Yes, 75% of the dogs here are named Tiger and 25% are Danger."
Another interesting fact about the Bemba people and their naming habits: Twins are called mpundu. I think due to the higher birth rate, there are a lot more twins around here. The children usually aren't referred to by their given names, they're just called mpundu. The child born after twins is usually named Icoola, meaning bag. This is because the younger child always must follow his twin siblings to carry their baggage.
And a special birth announcement: Chris' namesake, Christopher Mutale Mwango, was born 14 July, 2009.
And for my dad, our house in it's entirety:
