600!

I wrote my 600th post this week. Woo!

Weekend

This weekend included a super-long bike ride in the blazing sun (Trevor and Richard) and some serious lounging by all of us at the weekend home of Richard's friend.

Many of the material comforts we enjoy in Americaland don't exist here, but there is an abundance of cheap labor. At home, the only time we get overtly "waited on" is at a restaurant. This guy's place was swarming with staff that made a fire for us to sit by, moved the chairs around when we wanted to shift from the sun into a shady spot, brought a thermos of tea and whisked away the empty cups afterward, and squatted down to receive instructions from the boss.

While it seems pretty luxurious to get waited on hand and foot, the three of us whiteys agreed later that it also made us squirm. It was kind of refreshing to come home and cook our own dinner, even though (as usual) I let Trevor wash the dishes.

Go Coffee!

As regular blog readers know, for Trevor and me, a big quality-of-life
issue here in Zambia has been the search for decent coffee. There's
something so demoralizing about starting the day with a nasty little
cup of instant after having been spoiled by fragrant and delicious
beans.

It's only fitting that as we enter the final quarter of our time in
Zambia, we've finally sourced what may be the best coffee I've ever
had, in Americaland or elsewhere. It comes from northern Malawi and is
sold as a health drink-- in fact, the packing (which, inexplicably, is
adorned with a Nike swoosh) advises consumers not to drink it for
pleasure but to take advantage of its restorative properties, advice
we happily ignore as we sip much more of the brew than is probably
recommended. This is made easier by the fact that the beans come in
1kg (2.2 pound) sacks that invite overuse.

The best part of all for these two proud University of Missouri alumni
is that the coffee is named for its home region of Mzuzu.

Holy mother of invention

One of the unexpected benefits of living in Zambia is the way it forces you to solve problems with minimum resources and maximum creativity.

Because I wanted to avoid a return visit to the local veterinarian, who is afraid of dogs, this week I got my first practice in amateur animal medicine. Blood, pus and guts are normally things I avoid, but Sophie needed her stitches out and won't roll over and show her belly to just anybody. It took several days of chasing her around with fingernail clippers and disinfectant swabs, but I finally plucked out all 12 of the blue fishing-line stitches.

The experience left me feeling slightly nauseated but also pretty proud of myself. It turns out that MacGuyver veterinary care is surprisingly interesting and weirdly fun.

Change of season

While it is officially now the rainy season, it might be more telling to call it the Giant Insect Season. Since the rains have started, we've watched thousands of inswa (flying termites) swirl out of their holes in the dirt into the sky (people collect them in bowls to fry up: a seasonal delicacy!), we've become maniacal about taking our malaria pills against the hordes of mosquitos, and our house is swarming with 2-inch cockroaches, scorpion spiders, and black segmented millipedes bigger than gummy worms (and not as pretty).

Trevor collected a bunch of bugs in a plastic container for observation, then released them into the yard (well, the roach met a shoe pretty much immediately). Later, our visiting friend plucked that same (unwashed) container out of the sink to make a salad. It was the kind of moment where you wonder, should I say something and make her want to toss her cookies and/or salad? Or shut my big trap and tell the internets later?

She seemed to enjoy the salad. I didn't try it.

Spirit

I didn't even agonize over it this year, but just went ahead and bought myself a Christmas tree on the first day I saw them at the grocery store.

We're sitting here in shorts as the rainy season gets underway in all its 100-percent humidity and giant cockroachy glory, so I decided not to wait for the holiday spirit to arrive but put the darn thing up, festooned in a wimpy little strand of lights, tinsel I brought back from Americaland last year, paper flags and cocktail umbrellas Michelle sent, malaria test slides, and a bunch of styrofoam letters we deemed sufficiently festive.

It may be quirky, but it's beginning to look (a little) like Christmas.

Back

Mt. Mulanje was spectacular and shredded the skin off my feet (note to self: no hiking in homemade socks!). More details (and photos, I hope!) to come.

The 6-day hike itself was miraculously uneventful (great weather, good food, excellent company, no injuries), and because nothing in Africa is ever easy, the drive home included:

-- a dead battery when we returned to Richard's truck
-- a region-wide diesel shortage that resulted in our buying fuel on the black market and later siphoning from the spare tank using garden hose and a 5-liter jug
-- a clogged fuel filter that Richard changed (in 10 minutes!) on the shoulder of the highway between Blantyre and Lilongwe
-- being buzzed off the road twice by the four-Hummer entourage of (we believe) President Dr. Bingu of Malawi (we passed them back when they stopped to pee beside the road)
-- a driving rainstorm that began just as I started my shift behind the wheel
-- a drunk guard at the border who required a little, uh, convincing to open the gate
-- eleven (count 'em: ELEVEN!) police checkpoints

Normally I'd be put out by the so-called hassles, but I welcomed any reason to extend the trip by a few more minutes, even if it meant standing by the truck watching diesel drip into a jug while rainstorm-hatched termites swirled into the dusk air.

It was that good.

Traveling companion

If you're planning a 6-day hike on Mt. Mulanje, I recommend that you take along an authentic Englishman, who can be counted upon to provide endless entertainment by talking funny, as well as to interrupt every afternoon's exhausting uphill slog by suggesting a proper tea break.

I've stopped on many a hiking trip for a handful of granola and gulps of water laced with powdered drink mix, but there's something utterly refreshing and civilized about waiting for the water to boil, respecting the alchemy of the tea leaves, adding the milk, and enjoying the scenery over a steaming mug.

It doesn't hurt that you get a thunderbolt of caffeinated energy to blast you along those last few miles.

Trekking

In one hour we head to Mt. Mulanje in southern Malawi. We'll be away for one glorious week. See you in November!

For family: If there's an emergency, call the PC office in Lusaka or Washington, and they can track us down.

Update: Sophie

Trevor and I spent the entire morning with Sophie at the vet, while she got fixed in a room that looked as sterile and equipped for surgery as my kitchen.

She was completely out of it for several hours after we brought her home in a taxi (the driver asked: "Is she vicious?" as Trevor carried her to the car, her head lolling). We put her on a blanket in the living room. She couldn't even pick up her head, but we could tell she was coming out of the sedative when her tail started thumping on the ground.

Oh, dogs.

Further adventures in trying to accomplish anything in a place where you just have to laugh/ cry

Further adventures in trying to accomplish anything in a place where you just have to laugh/ cry

We’ve been trying to get Sophie, the house guard dog, fixed for months, but the vet has been out of the sedative necessary for the operation. We considered taking her to a vet in Lusaka but dismissed this idea after she spazzed and peed herself during her one-minute car ride circa the move, so we asked the visiting medical officer to bring up the medicine when she came this week. (Meanwhile Sophie went into heat and was visited by every stray dog within pheromone distance.)

When Trevor went to set up the appointment and hand over the medicine, the vet told him, “Oh, we don’t need the medicine, we have it.” Apparently they got it a few weeks ago and didn’t think to tell us despite the fact that we have been pestering them for MONTHS and begging them to notify us. This is also the vet who’s afraid to touch dogs, so cross your fingers that Sophie makes it through the next few days.

Pizza pizza pizza!

One of the awesomest things about living in Chipata is being able to order fantastic, authentically Italian pizza and have it delivered right to our house. Only in Chipata would you call the pizza lady at 8 am to order dinner. For delivery directions? "You know Marco? Yeah, we live next to Marco." Ok!

We ordered two since we were having company, and it arrived more or less when she said, only in three boxes because she makes them so gigantic they won't fit into regular boxes. Also, they were delivered by her husband who ended up going next door to hang out with... Marco.

Even after being mauled by four hungry, pizza-starved humans, enough remained for breakfast this morning. Bonus!

Drunk & laughing

They say that PCVs from Africa go home drunk and laughing. We definitely drink more, and laughing seems the only appropriate response to so much of life here.

For example, yesterday we got a package slip from the post office, so I stopped by Mwape's window to pick it up. It turned out the slip was actually a receipt from a package Trevor sent last week, but we did have a package there wasn't a slip for. (It was from my parents, full of magazines, blueberry muffin mix, drink powder, Halloween candy. Woo family!)

Also I've been trying to buy a plane ticket, and when I talked to the travel agent yesterday he said he could book a ticket from Lilongwe to Dar es Salaam, but not the other way around. Huh?!?!?? I mean, you can argue, but laughing is probably saner.

Running

I hate running in Zambia. I'm going to keep doing it, because I need the exercise bad (even if I have started losing my appetite due to wormy shima way too much lately).

This morning, two ratty little boys started following me the minute I left our gate. "Madam! Madam!" I turned up the music, and after a block or so turned around and told them to go away. They did!

On my loop, I quickly backtracked when I reached the school swarming with kids in uniforms. Then, when I was about to start back down my own road, a pickup carrying about 20 jeering prisoners turned down it just in front of me. This motivated me to do an extra loop around the block in a different direction, and my anger made me run much faster than I would have otherwise. I'm glad for that, I guess.

Still, I'd rather run in anonymity, without company or commentary.

Mood-ometer

After a concerned email from my mom, who is probably the most committed workaholic I ever met (even in retirement we have to schedule our lunch dates and phone calls because she's never home), I have come to realize my recent groaning may be out of proportion to my suffering.

In my defense, can I explain that (unfortunately) it's my nature to complain, there have been issues back home that have us concerned/preoccupied/preemptively grumpy, and it was Freaking Hot as Hades until two days ago. Also, I was staying up too late reading Twilight. That didn't help. (Even worse, the third and fourth books have gone missing from the PC house, so I'm dying of suspense.)

Things are just ok here. Simon continues to be awesome, Stella (the day guard) braided my hair so cool this afternoon that I'm sad I can't go out and show it off, and apparently broccoli is in season in South Africa because Shoprite had a pile of it, which we bought. Yeah, pretty much all of it. (When you don't see a vegetable for 18 months, you can lose control in the produce aisle.)

Anyway, all this to say that we are doing much better than this blog might have you believe. We even have another vacation soon (climbing Mt. Mulanje in Malawi!). The only thing that would make it better is to hear from you. Where is everybody?

A drop

The arrival of our new boss coincided with Chipata's first rain of the season, a 30-second shower in midafternoon that didn't drop much water but did lower the air temperature by at least 20 degrees. I actually had to get up in the night to put a blanket on the bed.

Suddenly, Zambia feels bearable again.

Traditionally, people say the first rain will fall on Independence Day, which comes Saturday. I'm hoping yesterday's drizzle was just a warmup for a real monsoon this weekend. Of course, the change in weather means everybody is coughing and sneezing again. And crews are coming around to spray some version of DDT (so we hear) in houses to keep down the malarial mosquitos whose population will explode when the rains start for real.

Still, it's cooler.

New boss

I had hoped that the arrival of my new boss, Simon, would mean I could hand over all my work and spend the next six months knitting, watching movies with the volunteers and making origami with orphans. At the very least, I hoped to never get into a cruiser again.

Sadly, he will not be doing all my work and I will still have to travel, but least he seems like a nice guy, and I'm not the only one who thinks so. Sophie spent all afternoon pressed to his side, nosing his hand for more petting. And unlike many Zambians I've met, Simon was not only not scared of her, he actually scratched her as if he likes dogs. Which makes me think the work could work out just fine.

A confession

I went on a hat-making bender in September and it took awhile to get back into the sock-making groove. Thus, it's more than halfway through October and I'm just finishing the second of September's socks. (They're awesome socks, though-- hand-dyed yellow wool from Lea in Alabama.)

My record was perfect until now. Sheesh.

Taking the temperature

During last year's hot season, we wondered whether knowing that the temperature had reached triple digits made it feel hotter. We spent many afternoons watching our outdoor thermometer from the relative cool of our dark little hut.

I'm getting another opportunity to research the topic this week. Yesterday I peeled myself out of the Cruiser after an hour-long drive that left my entire back side (shoulders to ankles) soaking wet. (Disgusting, but I do welcome the cooling evaporative effect.) A teacher at the school we were visiting mentioned that it was 39 degrees (C), which didn't seem too nasty until I did a quick calculation on my cell phone and realized that was more than 100 degrees F. People, that is hot.

What made it feel truly miserable was knowing I was heading back to a hotel room with an air-tight mosquito net and no fan. (Cue violin music.)

The best part

I am completely over driving for hours around the province in a hot, dusty, bumpy Land Cruiser to attend meetings in a language I only marginally understand. But yesterday...

Clement and I traveled out with two guys from the forestry office to hold a community meeting in a village that hasn't had a volunteer before. At first a few people gathered with us at the headman's house, but people kept wandering over until we were nearly 100, plus another twenty thousand or so kids. We gave the usual introductory talk about Peace Corps (no money, you have to build them a house, community integration, yadda yadda) and asked if they were still interested in hosting a volunteer.

Several people got up to give little speeches: how thrilled they were to be considered, hosting a foreigner will be a blessing, they are anxious to develop and learn. It was a very John F. Kennedy moment, filled with possibility and hope.

Now, if they will actually build the house like they promised, and if we can find them a volunteer who's decent and hardworking and likes children and doesn't get sick or decide to quit...