Up in the mango tree and down in the hot sand

The day after we returned from Kasama after dealing with the police regarding the robbery, a large boomslang slithered into our yard. The toddler and the five-year old girl from our host family were on the porch, along with our puppy and the dog that has adopted us, Tiger. Abandoning American sensibilities (we've been in Zambia too long), Chris grabbed a large stick and proceeded to have an epic showdown with the venomous snake, finally killing it. Tiger, being a Zambian dog, has some emotional baggage, and when Chris began to swing the stick, he thought he would be beat, and bit Chris hard on the leg. According to Peace Corps standards, Chris had to travel to Lusaka for a week to receive two rabies shots. Both dog and guy are still alive and free of rabies, although the snake did not fare as well.

Our next encounter with a venomous snake happened a few days ago. We were bicycling to a nearby village, an hour away, for umunada on a narrow bush path. I was in front and didn't see the large cobra just to the side of the path until I was almost next to it. Adrenaline pumping, I screamed, and pedaled faster, and Chris lifted his legs up so that if the snake struck, it would only hit his bike. We both were unscathed, although I was shaking for a good fifteen minutes afterwards and refused to stop bicycling until we were a kilometer past the snake. On the ride back, we got caught in a downpour, and I lost my glasses on the road, which had turned into an actual stream. Chris eventually found them intact, but it was a very eventful bicycle trip.

While Chris was still in Lusaka, our puppy went mad. Suddenly one morning she began to yelp and run around crazily. Her eyes were almost glassy, and her tail was between her legs, and she lost bowel and bladder control. It wasn't pretty and was very frightening. I had to tie her up for four days because I was afraid she would hurt herself or others because she wasn't in a normal state of mind. By the second day, she had attacks of madness about once every half an hour, but was completely normal in between. By the fifth day, she was back to her old self. People told me that she had eaten a poisonous grasshopper, and it's a common enough occurence in playful young dogs. They gave her local medicine; sweet potato leaves and a lizard. I've since heard that it can even kill if the puppy is too small. People also said she would learn and wouldn't eat a grasshopper again, although she continues to chase everything that moves.

I have been doing a lot of HIV/AIDS work since 1 December was World AIDS Day. As I have some experience doing HIV voluntary counseling and testing in West Africa, I went around with Ba Allan as he conducted his once monthly home counseling visits of people living with HIV in the village. The prevelance of HIV infection in the Northern Province is 7% of the population. If you applied that to our village, that would mean there are actually around 140 people that are HIV-positive, although there are only about 20 people that know they are HIV-positive. I've recently learned that two people who are my good friends in the village have been living with HIV for several years, which upsets me because they are both wonderful, friendly people. There are also several HIV+ children, many of whom are orphaned and attend Ba Allan's pre-school.

An NGO in Kasama donated 50 HIV tests (Ba Allan is trained to do VCT) and 700 condoms for our World AIDS Day activities. I wrote a report on the two days that I thought I'd post.

Report of World AIDS Day Activities in [name of village]
Nicole Barren, U.S. Peace Corps Volunteer

On the first day of programmed activities, 30 November 2009, PCV Nicole Barren and community member Allan Mwango spoke to 105 schoolchildren in grades 1-9 about HIV/AIDS, modes of transmission, and prevention. Pupils in grades 7-9 were instructed on the correct usage of both male and female condoms. Pupils asked good questions, and afterwards, sixteen boys and girls under the age of twenty went to VCT, and many teenage boys requested condoms.
On the first day of VCT, 17 people were tested, and the demand was so great that we decided to also hold VCT the following day.
The candlelight vigil in the evening was attended by 92 people, mostly children. There were prayers and drumming and dancing, and it was a fun, heartfelt ceremony.

On 1 December, an additional 13 people were tested for HIV, bringing the total number tested to 31 people. In the under 16 age group, three males and one female were tested. Seventeen males and one female aged 16-25 were tested. In the 26-35 age bracket, two males and one female were tested. Four males and two females over the age of 36 were tested. Of the 31 tests administered, 9 were non-reactive or negative, and 22 were inconclusive. There is obvious need for further testing to confirm the statuses of the remaining 22 people after the three-month window period.
For this day many activities were planned; a drama, games, an educational speech on HIV/AIDS, and a speech by an HIV-positive woman in the village. However, the Kasama General Constituency had also chosen this day to come and generate National Registration Cards for voters, drawing away many people from the planned activities. Due to poor attendance, the program was canceled, but will be rescheduled later this month, at a more convenient time.
Despite the failed educational programming, the condom distribution was successful. We received 200 female condoms and 600 male condoms from Northern Health Education Programme, and we distributed 735 condoms to 173 people over a span of six days. 52 male youths, 1 female youth, 88 male adults, and 32 female adults received condoms. All had instruction on how to use them. To avoid misuse of the condoms (using them for bangles, balloons, etc.), we didn’t freely hand them out- people had to come to where we were sitting or to our house and request them. We also refused to give them to young girls that we personally knew would not use them for the purpose of HIV prevention. Until five months ago, condoms were not accessible in [village name], so the free distribution was a great method of sensitization on the importance of their use. It is our hope that once people become comfortable using them and their supply diminishes, they will buy them from us (K 200 for a pack of three).

Despite scheduling conflicts, we felt that overall the programme was successful. We were able to reach many villagers with the importance of knowing their status and practicing safe sex. We will continue sensitizing the community on HIV/AIDS and contraceptives, and look forward to working with NOHEP again for VCT Day and World AIDS Day next year.

Among my favorite people in the village are two twin brothers who are in their early thirties. They are part of my devoted weekly English class of four men. They're really funny and always reliable. The previous class, I had given a homework assignment to write a one-page story in which there is dialogue, because they needed practice on punctuation and where to place quotation marks. One of the brothers had written a story in which he is talking to a friend about the Peace Corps volunteers in their village. He wrote how much he enjoys my English class and that I am very friendly and nice. Then he spoke about his guitar lessons with Chris and how much he enjoys their friendship. It was so candid and sweet, and was one of the few moments where I realized what impact my working and living here is having on people. We often worry that we aren't really accomplishing development because we have no means other than to impart knowledge, which is less regarded in Zambia then big, material projects. But large-scale, funded projects don't have the same emotional effect as our work does. Another moment like this happened just a few days ago, when my counterpart returned to the village after a month of visiting her brother. She had left because of problems with her husband, because he's often drunk, but ultimately returned rather than leave the village for good because of me.

There's ups and downs, emotional highs and depressing moments or events when I just want to go back to America where everything is safe and predictable. The newest drama is jealousy on the part of our host mother. She prefers to think that we are just there for her and her family, to give them things. She has been mean on some occasions to people that come to visit us, so that they no longer feel comfortable coming to our house. Apparently when the volunteer before us left, he gave many of his belongings to one of his good friends, and that friend is not allowed to come to our house in that chance that will happen with us. When I last met with my women's group at my house, she caused a scene, so we can no longer convene there. All in all, it's jealousy, controlling behavior, and an incorrect picture of what Peace Corps is. It isn't directed at us, but it's very important for us and for our job that people feel comfortable coming to talk to us.

Village Justice

When we first arrived at our village, and asked the Peace Corps volunteer there from 2007-2009 if he had ever had any problems with theft, he said no. Then he laughed a little, and said, "O.K., this one time I left the window open when I went away, and a candy bar was stolen." People kept telling us how safe it was here. Our headman had some goats stolen once, but the thief, who lived in Kasama, was found and arrested. The school had some solar panels stolen. But other than some firewood and indigenous fruits we left outside, we have never had anything of any monetary value taken.

So we were shocked when we returned home at around four in the afternoon on Halloween and found someone had tampered with our lock with a flat object, possibly a screwdriver. The lock was closed, so at first we thought the break-in attempt had failed. Then we looked inside. Things were just as messy as we had left them, but things were missing from the shelves in our bedroom, the mosquito net was untucked from the bed, and cartons of my thyroid medicine had been removed from a bag under the bed and tossed beside a pile of dirty clothes. Our solar charger, several packages of batteries, and a flashlight were missing. The bag containing our MP3 player was disturbed, but the MP3 player was untouched. We had money hidden, but the thief didn't find it. He had taken some batteries, but left a package of identical batteries untouched on my shelf.

I felt like I had swallowed a mango pit that was pressing painfully against my stomach. My heart was running the Boston Marathon. Worst of all, at that moment, what I wanted most was to go home to America. The repeated infections, bad sunburn I'd got on a boat at Lake Tang, diarrhea that came and went, the homesickness, alone was bearable. But now theft, invasion of the one place in our village in which we had real privacy... why try to help people that stole from you?

Since the lock was broken, Chris stayed at our house and talked with our host father, who summoned the Community Crime Prevention Unit (CCPU). I went to the road with my cell phone to call the Peace Corps Safety and Security Officer in Lusaka, who helped immensely and called Peace Corps staff in Kasama, then spoke with my and Chris' Associate Peace Corp directors. Then I went to inform the school headmaster and a senior teacher, who went with me to the village headman to help translate.

By the time I returned, night had fallen, and Chris and I sat pathetically on our porch beside a candle, knawing on half a loaf of banana bread, the only food we'd had since breakfast. Our host father came to invite us to eat nshima. He told us people were saying it was an "inside job" because only a few items had been stolen; most likely the thief was from our village and broke into our house to steal specific items, not clear us out completely. Some people were even blaming the family that lived around us for not preventing the theft, or worse, saying they stole from us. This, we didn't believe, but our host father was very distressed and later told us he'd questioned his three teenaged children.


Before going to bed, I set an axe between the headboard of the bed and the wall. Then I fell into a restless sleep, punctuated by moments I'd awake suddenly after hearing noises outside, and listen intently, my heart beating with Lariam-fueled paranoia. Chris, on the other hand, slept fine.


The following morning, at around 9 am, the CCPU came marching into our yard bearing some of our batteries that had been stolen. Our neighbor, a man that takes guitar lessons from Chris and English lessons from me, said he had become suspicious of his nephew, and upon entering his house, found the batteries. The twenty-year old boy confessed and the CCPU found the rest of our belongings, hidden in a hole under a rock which had been urinated on. Our flashlight, which doesn't take batteries, and you shake to charge it, had been smashed. Apparently the guy couldn't figure out how to use it. Our solar charger had been damaged and knocked around a bit, and the connecting cable was cut. About half of our batteries had been recovered. We also got back a bottle of shampoo, an inhaler, and my old cell phone from the states, which he didn't realize had been stolen. We've speculated quite a bit on why he took the inhaler. Chris' guess is that the package resembles a pack of cigarettes.


An impromptu community trial was arranged at the school to determine punishment. The robber sat under a tree, his head bowed, skinny legs poking out from baggy faded brown shorts, and one wrist shackled in a pair of ancient handcuffs. The headman, CCPU, and Chris and I stood around him, surrounded by a gaggle of children pushing frantically to get a view, and somber adults. The boy (he was so thin, helpless, and baby-faced that calling him a man or guy doesn't seem right) was mentally ill, we were told. He'd stolen before. A couple of days before breaking into our house, he'd stolen a mattress from a teacher's house. The headman, the boy's grandmother, and another older man scolded him in rapid-fire icibemba. Chris bent down, and in Bemba, said "We are here to help the village. Why did you steal from us?" The boy just mumbled that he didn't know. The community decided that he should go to jail. Jails in Zambia are horrible pits of dispair, where they don't think twice about beating prisoners. Our friend's host father had spent two nights there, and had to pay the biggest prisoner there ZMK 5,000 a day or the man would kick his butt. But there are no real facilities for the mentally ill, and the consensus was that if he remained in the village, he'd continue to steal.


The Peace Corps staff in Kasama had heard about our ordeal, and Ted and Scorpion came to the rescue, bringing us a new lock and a flashlight. The police in Kasama have limited funds and there is a fuel shortage, so you can only buy 5g of black market gas for over $10, so we would have to bring the thief to them. At that time, he was being held by the CCPU near his uncle's house. With nothing else to do on a Sunday morning after church let out, a large crowd of children sneered at him. Chris and I got into the land cruiser, then three men escorted the placid boy in behind us, and BashiKatongo, a senior member of the CCPU, came along to hold the boy and present the story of his capture to the police. As we rolled away from the village, the children stood on the red sand, waving enthusiastically. BashiKatongo grabbed the boy's hand and made him wave back. After a sleepless night and the comforting bounce of the cruiser speeding over the mud, I dozed. Chris awkwardly held the boy's handcuffs when BashiKatongo had to pee. And the boy looked in wonder at the bush speeding by out the window. This was his first time ever traveling to Kasama.

At the police station, we handed over the "evidence," a plastic Shoprite bag full of the recovered objects that had been stolen. We made a statement and the police locked the boy in a cell, a large concrete room with one side that was an open window with bars that faced the courtyard. The trial was supposed to be yesterday, and then today, now it's tommorrow. He's expected to plead guilty, so we won't have to testify.