In Peace Corps Zambia lingo, we were “bush rats,”
content to stay in our remote village for weeks at a time, and only leaving for
food supply runs and periodic vacations.
Although our time was not without struggles, we learned and grew from
those experiences. On our last day in
the village in March 2011, we lugged several suitcases containing two years of
our life onto the porch in preparation for the Peace Corps Land Cruiser’s
arrival. Then the village headman,
counterparts, teachers, students, farming cooperative members, friends and
neighbors trickled in to sit vigil with us in the front yard as we waited. I don’t remember the words of our last
conversations because we had been slowly saying goodbye for weeks, only a tone
of finality and sadness. There are
snapshots in my mind: our village headman, a former Independence freedom fighter
now wrinkled and greying, folded into a forest green canvas chair with a look
of solemnity on his face. Wilo anxiously
pacing by our belongings so she would not be left behind, worry constricting
her pumpkin-colored eyes. Our host
family’s younger daughters, usually spunky and talkative, sitting quietly in
the shade of the mango tree. Our
counterpart standing next to our tall host father, talking animatedly with his
hands. After some hours, we heard the
Land Cruiser’s engine as it pulled off the road onto the long dirt footpath
leading to our house. The sound of the
deep engine was what made it become real, and we began exchanging handshakes,
hugs and tears with dear friends that we were leaving behind. As we pulled away in the Land Cruiser, my
vision was blurred from unshed tears swimming in my eyes, and a part of my
heart stayed behind.
The headman |
Earlier this month, we
were fortunate enough to be able to return to our village for a visit, the
first time we’ve been back in four years.
The journey from Malawi’s Central Region to Zambia’s Northern Province,
though geographically very close, took three and a half full days of bus rides
and hitchhiking in private cars because undeveloped infrastructure meant we had
to make a “V”, rather than a straight line, to reach our destination. During this time, we were able to observe how
much Zambia had developed in such a short time.
The main roads were in excellent condition, an improvement from the
narrow roads we remember with deep craters.
Petrol stations and fast food stores had sprung up everywhere. Kasama, once a forgotten back-woods
provincial capital, now had more vehicles than the roads could handle. Our friends, who moved back to Kasama last
year, joked that rather than the chorus of “how are you’s” from the local children,
they were now greeting in Mandarin.
Our counterpart Allan
had told people in the village that we were returning for a visit, but it
turned out to be a surprise anyways because no one had believed him. Our Peace Corps predecessor, as well as Peace
Corps volunteers in other nearby villages, had left and never returned, so
everyone thought Allan was telling stories.
When we arrived the first day, people looked at us with interest, and
gossiped with their friends: “Who are those white people? They look just like Chrisi and Nikki, but
they cannot be them.” By day two, word
had spread, and everyone we passed came up to us
enthusiastically, asked how we
were, whether we were eating (the consensus was that Chris is very fat, so I’m
a good wife, but I’m not eating much myself), and told us how thankful they
were for our visit and how much they liked seeing us. Fortunately, despite not speaking much Bemba for four years, we are a bit rusty at speaking but still understand it we enough to carry on a conversation. Every day, too, we were improving. When we visited people at their houses, they
showered us with food, which is the Bemba way of welcoming guests. Upon our arrival, the woman of the house
would begin cooking copious amounts of a snack like roasted maize, boiled sweet
potato, or boiled groundnuts and serve it to us. Then when we left, they’d bring us a sack
full of groundnuts, pumpkin, beans or sweet potatoes to carry back with us. We stayed with Allan, and his wife cooked us
a full breakfast, lunch and dinner as well as several snacks throughout the
day. Combined with the food we received
on our visits, we were eating about every two hours for the entire week we were
there. It is culturally unacceptable to
decline food, and there are several varieties of Zambian food that we miss
since they aren’t grown in Malawi, so we finished everything.
Greeting old acquaintances on the road |
RIP BashikuluPrince (L) |
One of the biggest
disappointments was seeing one of our favorite little girls, Pati, now married
and pregnant at the age of only 14 or 15.
Another stubborn teenager, she went to live with her boyfriend against
her parents’ wishes, and became pregnant.
She now lives with him in a brick house across from his father and
mother and in front of her cousin Doreen.
At least she chose well; her husband does not drink alcohol (so many
young men do), is polite and a hard worker.
However, I am worried for her labor because she has growth stunting from
a childhood of malnutrition and is very young, both risk factors for obstructed
labor due to a small pelvic passage.
Bemba women also prefer to have their firstborn child at home,
surrounded by loving aunts rather than skilled birth attendants. It isn’t proper to talk about pregnancy, but
we asked Allan to come with us and plead with her and her husband to go
immediately to her uncle, our host father, if she is ever “sick” so that he may
help her. Then we left money with our
host father with instructions that it should be used for transport to the
hospital and/or hospital fees when she needs it.
Pati and younger sister Silvia; then and now |
With Pati and a young neighbor at the house she shares with her husband |
Chanda and her niece Mercy |
Many of the elders are
still going strong. The former headman,
one of our biggest champions, has since retired and his son has taken
over. He has to be in his 80s. At Zambia’s 50 years of Independence celebrations
last year, he was awarded with a gold medal which he now proudly wears on his
suit jacket each day. As a freedom
fighter during Independence, he was imprisoned for one year by British
colonialists. He endured harsh punishments
such as a severe beating that popped his eardrum, rendering him nearly deaf.
The grandmother who lived opposite us is still as feisty as ever. Unfortunately she has cloudy
The grandmother who lived opposite us is still as feisty as ever. Unfortunately she has cloudy
cataracts and probable glaucoma; there is
no treatment for that here so she takes ineffective painkillers and snorts
tobacco.
Among all families with
small children, we were surprised by how much they’ve grown. Our neighbor BashiMapalo and BanaMapalo are
now living in our old house after their house collapsed from heavy rains. They now have four children including a new
baby, and their baby born during our second year of service, Richie, is all grown up.
BanaMapalo and BashiMapalo and the children: (Clockwise) Mapalo (in red shirt), baby Vincent, Richie, and Juliet. In front of our old house. |
Mapalo: then and now |
With BanaPeggy and Beauty: then and now. Cecilia, the older girl and another of our constant companions back in the day is now staying in Lusaka, so we were unable to see her. |
Beauty and I, photo bombed by a rooster |
The youngest five: (L to R): Jacklyn, Charity, Silvia, Benny and Lazaro |
Our host father and mother (BashiAmose/BashikuluMercy and BanaAmose/BanakuluMercy) have 7 living children and a nephew who've they adopted. The oldest, Doreen, lives on the other side of the village with her husband and toddler, while the teenager children have completed their highest level of schooling and help at the family's field. The second and third youngest daughters, Muso and Malama, were about six and four-years-old when we left and could always be found at our house. They have grown rapidly like little weeds; the whole family is very tall.
BashiAmose was proud to show us his new acquisition: a Canter truck. During harvest, he drove his broken-down pickup truck back and forth between his house and field multiple times a day transporting maize, so he sprung for an upgrade.
BashiAmose and BanaAmose with their new ride. |
Pre-school graduates and current primary school students returning to the pre-school |
One of the most bizarre stories we’ve heard is an explanation of why there are no longer any goats in the village. Apparently, one night all the goats in the village got together (and every family had at least a few), and decided to leave as one and go to the chief’s palace, 12 km away. In the morning, people found that all their goats were gone, but the sheep apparently decided to stick around. The chief told the people that if they wanted their goats back, they had to come to the palace and pay a fine. Not many people were up for the long journey and then paying a fine, so they left the goats there. Chris and I are whispering about witchcraft as a possible explanation.
When we left, we were able to bring Wilo with us but
had to leave behind some other terrific dogs-Tiger, Chankulila, and Wilo’s
eight puppies. We prepared ourselves to
the fact that they most likely were no longer living, since dogs in the village
don’t have a long lifespan. Chankulila
(Wilo’s baby daddy) did pass away, they said he just didn’t come home one day
and they never found out what happened to him.
Six of Wilo’s pups are definitely dead- one ate a poisonous grasshopper
like she did when she was young and didn’t survive and another was attacked by
a rabid fox. We lost track of one, but
last we heard she was a good guard dog for an agricultural camp officer. The remaining puppy, Bwafya, is still alive
and thriving. He’s quite a bit smaller
than Wilo and Chankulila full grown (ie, poorly nourished), and he looks
exactly like Chankulila but with Wilo’s face.
He remembered us too, and ran right over a belly rub. The most heartwarming dog reunion though
happened with Tiger, who is still alive at age 7 or 8. Tiger is a very reserved dog, wary of
strangers, and Chris still bears scars from the time he was bitten by
Tiger. Imagine our surprise when after
four years, we enter our host family’s yard and Tiger comes dashing over, his
whole body wiggling in joy, emitting little howls for attention. He greeted us that way every time we came
over during our visit, and didn’t leave our sides.
Many people asked us about Wilo too (she was quite the celebrity), and were pleased to hear she was now in Malawi.
Overall, our visit back to the village was overwhelmingly positive, and it was nice to be surrounded by our family on this continent again. It was hard saying goodbye again,
Many people asked us about Wilo too (she was quite the celebrity), and were pleased to hear she was now in Malawi.
Overall, our visit back to the village was overwhelmingly positive, and it was nice to be surrounded by our family on this continent again. It was hard saying goodbye again,