From the horse’s mouth - so to speak...

Jeremy is a better events blogger than I am. For whatever reason, I find it almost impossible to sit down and write about what’s actually going on here, resulting in month old posts that were started when the events were happening but only finished once Jeremy had blogged about them and I could plagiarize his posts. As such, I’m giving you all the direct link to Jeremy’s blog so you can keep better tabs on what’s happening here in real time.

www.every2weeks.blogspot.com

With great knowledge comes great responsibility. One thing you have to promise me now that you have this information, is that you won’t mind the obvious similar paragraphs in some of our posts…. :)

Food in Meheba

I’m excited about our many culinary experiments lately. Make no mistake, food in Meheba is basic. The four readily available food items here are rice, beans, cabbage, and nshima, which is a boiled maize product that is a Zambian staple that I almost never eat. I’ve heard it said that on the totem pole of corn based foods, its pretty much bottom of the pile. People here love it, but I haven’t quite gotten there yet.

It is also usually possible to find sweet potatoes, tomatoes, rolls and eggs with a bit of searching. Onions can usually be found and if you’re lucky there might be garlic. If you are REALLY lucky and happen to be in the right season, you can find avocados. Mango season is still a few months away, but I’m going to be the happiest person alive.

Thanks to the spices my parents so generously brought with them we’ve been enjoying chili and tacos and other Texas treasures. We don’t have refrigeration, so cheese is out and much to Jeremy’s chagrin so is meat (though I’m loving the ease of being a vegetarian here!). We have little pieces of soya that parade as chicken and make a good substitute in chicken tacos.

Lately we have been experimenting with baking. Baking with coals and no oven is tricky to say the least, but we’ve developed a pretty good method. We have two pots that are the same size, so we generally light coals under one of them, put the lid on and place whatever we are baking on top of the lid. Then, we turn the other pot upside down on top of that and put coals on top of it. It makes a pretty good little oven and generally avoids burning the bottom of whatever we are making.

And oh the treats that we have been making!! I’m learning a lot about the wonders of flour. In Texas, “from scratch” usually meant that I bought the box of cookie mix instead of buying the already made frozen dough. Here, I am learning the wonders of bread making without a bread-maker, what really goes into biscuits and pancakes (not just a box of mix!), how to make brownies and cookies from scratch-scratch, and I even whipped up my own pie crust and oatmeal crumble for a genuine apple pie!! We’ve made samosas (again with the hand made dough) and chipati and even tortillas (great with soya tacos)!

Let’s just say I’m going to be the girl you want to take camping when I get back. Cooking over coals is a learning process, but so far I’m very pleased with our experiments. With the recent opening of Shoprite in Solwezi (a large American style grocery store) I can see our culinary expeditions climbing to new heights.

The Stars At Night Are Big And Bright

Jeremy often says that if he ever gets tired of looking up at the night sky here, he’ll know its time to go home. Tonight the sky above is full of stars, the warm fire blazes next to me, and the melodies of The Weepies sing in my ears. Its a peaceful evening that almost makes me forget the day that preceded it. Most of the time its easy to forget that Meheba isn’t just like any other rural village in Zambia. Alas, sometimes the realities of living in a refugee camp catch up to you.

In my last post I mentioned that one of our staff members has been receiving death threats. As this is a staff member from one of Jeremy’s projects, he has been dealing mostly with the situation, and thus I’m including his account of the recent events:

This situation increased in its severity during the past two weeks and occupied a large amount of my time, energy and increased my stress level. Unfortunately, due to the public nature of this blog, I can not write details (especially since the police/UN investigation is ongoing) but I can say that the FORGE employee is still healthy and will hopefully be leaving Meheba soon. However, dealing with that situation became a rotten apple for me. I sat up at night stressing, neglected other projects making sure the proper authorities were notified, put dozens of miles on my bike riding around the camp, my music on too loud to motivate me to ride faster when I was exhausted. The thought that a coworker of mine could be killed was too much for me to handle, and it took all I had to keep myself together with all of the stress.

This staff member is awaiting resettlement, and should be leaving within the next few weeks, but the way resettlement works is that it could come at any time. There is no set date and you must be in the camp when the plane ticket comes. As such, leaving Meheba for safer streets is pretty much out of the question. Now, I guess its just a waiting game.

The Beat Goes On

I don’t know what your job entails, but I wonder if it has ever found you waking up drenched in sweat and wondering if you have malaria, with every inch of your body aching in such revolt against itself that you think it is very possible that your insides will infact turn themselves into outsides, only to hear a knock at your door a few minutes later to find your co-worker drenched in sweat, not from fever but from a two-hour bike ride to buy pineapple, who is now announcing somewhat panicked that one of his project staff members has received a death threat and he’s headed back to the police station to try and sort it out.

Such is life in a refugee camp in Zambia. Let me decode that rather long sentence above. While yesterday was in fact one of the best days in Meheba, it also may be the cause of my discomfort this morning. After careful examination of the symptoms over time, it does not appear that my ailment is Malaria, but more likely the result of drinking homemade and possibly not-so-sterile banana beer. I’ve been feverish and chilled all day and completely unable to keep down even water. I ache. So very much, I ache.

But really, this is nothing compared to what is going on outside my doors. Jeremy decided to take a bike ride this morning with one of the volunteers, Kirk, to the Junction, the little intersection between the paved road outside Meheba and the dirt road at the entrance to Meheba. This happens to be the nearest place we know of to buy pineapple, and we had all been craving it for days. On their way back they ran into a FORGE staff member who was on his way to the police station (there is only one in Meheba, at Road 6 near the junction). In speaking to him he revealed that he has been receiving death threats recently.

Jeremy’s account of the interaction:
He told me he was running away from a death threat that he assured me was credible. He wouldn’t go with me to the police, so I rode over and spoke with the head inspector who agreed to watch over him for the evening. I frantically rode home, intending to meet with UNHCR officers to discuss what to do next. However, the UN staff was in Solwezi for the weekend. They assured me they would take care of the problem on Monday, and that the FORGE employee would be safe at road 6 until then. I took the Prado back up to the police station (far too tired to ride back up there for a second time), filed a report and came home for the evening.

This was all quite shocking and not something one expects to have to deal with in their daily managerial activities. Apparently a couple months back another person had been killed by the same people who were levying threats on this staff member. Going from the ultimate high of Friday to the frustration, fear and shock of Saturday was a bit much to handle. I spent Sunday on the couch, reading and watching movies. I’m worried about the FORGE staff member and emotionally exhausted, so I’m hoping the combination of the lazy Sunday and escape to Solwezi recharge me for the busy week I have coming up.

On a positive note, last week brought word of the approval for resettlement of Boniface, one of the subjects of the documentary FORGE recently facilitated and produced, A Long Way Gone. Coincidentally he announced this news to us at road 26 only a day or so after the film premiered in Los Angeles. It will still be several months before he departs, but he will be headed to the United States, news which has caused a shock wave of joy for past and current FORGE staff. I know this is a shameless organization plug, but if you have an opportunity to see the film I would highly recommend it (although I have no clue where it is playing outside of LA). It will give you a great idea of what life is actually like in Meheba, show you what the camp looks like (since slow internet hasn’t allowed for the posting of photos yet) and is a fantastic way to see what gets me so excited about going to work every day.

Where there’s music there’s dancing - August 21

Life in Meheba is not dull. There are of course dull moments, and when I first got here, I thought I’d go crazy with the silence and lack of “entertainment”, but I’m actually beginning to relish lazy Saturdays where I can sit down with my book and not move an inch for hours. While there isn’t a whole lot to do here in the evenings, we don’t have much power and we aren’t allowed out of the compound after dark (and really there would be no reason to go out anyway), truth be told, the job of Project Manager provides its own level of...things to do. In such a way that when you finally get a little peace and quiet where there is nothing to do, its actually much appreciated.

The week began with picking up two new volunteers from the States who are here for a month to work with FORGE projects. Its been nice having new faces around, and of course new music collections, as well as feeling, for the first time, that I might actually know enough about this place after two months to show someone else around. Its sort of a nice realization that hey, maybe I’m starting to get the hang of this.

This week we were also invited to Block G, a predominately Rwandese community about an hour or so bike ride from our house. The Rwandese community is nothing short of amazing. Going to Block G is like entering an alternate universe where things just work and time actually runs on time. The houses are even different in Block G as the Rwandese have mastered the art of creating red tile roofs and real red fired bricks. This morning several people in the community had gathered to make mud bricks for new latrines for the FORGE pre-school. When we got there an efficient assembly line was already in place and our pre-school head teacher was marveling that men and women were both working on this together. Previously, building used to be men only, but now in this new progressive society everyone is pitching in to make sure their children have the necessary accommodations for school. It was really great and even better to see the men in the community so happy about it!

We tried to pitch in and help, but honestly I felt like I was contributing to less work getting done, so I bowed out gracefully and joined some other community members at the local shop for cold beverages and impromptu dancing. This is the thing I love about Meheba: where there is music, there is dancing. As the music blared people started swaying their hips and clapping their hands, and before I knew it, more people were congregating and a circle was forming. Of course being a muzungu (the swahili word for white person) and well, just being me, I found myself in the middle of this circle. Dancing has always been the one thing that makes me crazy happy, and this was no exception. A few of the community members started teaching me how to do traditional Rwandese dancing. Also, rumba is really popular here (its a type of Congolese music and dancing that is really similar to the latin dance) and we danced that as well. Then, shock of all shock, one of the community members started teaching Jeremy Capoeira For those of you not familiar with Capoeira, it is a Brazilian marshal art that mimics dancing. It’s really incredible and also happens to be a ton of fun. I took a semester when I was at McGill and have never had such an amazing work out in my life. I was shocked to see this here!! It’s a much smaller world than one imagines.

After all the dancing we were taken to a meeting with the parents and teachers of the FORGE pre-school. They had prepared an event for us to welcome us and to show us more of their culture. We drank the banana beer that they produce in their community, listened to them talk about what the pre-school means to the community, and watched as they and several children’s groups showed us traditional dancing and singing. Rwandese dance is hard to describe. There are lots of violent hand motions, quick hip turns and hard stomps on the floor. Everything is highly synchronized and everyone participates either by clapping, dancing or singing.

At the end of the day, I was completely exhausted but also unbelievably happy. It was one of the best days I’ve had in Meheba and was such a joy to feel so welcomed and to see what an impact FORGE projects are having on the community. We also have a health center and a library in G. It was also special because just a few short years ago this community was very skeptical of any outsiders. When FORGE first started working in ‘G’ many people refused to take advantage of our services out of skepticism of a white/western organization and they certainly wouldn’t allow photos taken of them. This time, they were borrowing our cameras and taking photos of each other, posing and asking for photos, telling us how much they appreciated our services, and all around welcoming us in full force.

The Island

I’m taking ideas as to which Dharma Initiative station you think I’m currently living in. I’m thinking its “The Ant”, but I’m open to suggestions.

It’s possible that I’ve been watching too much Lost lately, but I don’t think so. I think I really live on the island. While I’m not seeing odd octagon shapes on all of my food yet, there is a wealth of compelling evidence. For example, my house is full of signs of a civilization that once was - one that I know almost nothing about. We have the water tower and pipes that suggest that at one time this house enjoyed running water. There is even what appears to be a solar water heater. That’s right...there was running hot water. (If only I had learned more about plumbing repairs when I was at Partsmaster.)

As well, in my room there is a door that leads to another small room that at one time was a dark room. All the way out here in the bush, someone created a dark room. All the old chemical powders to mix fixer and such are still there, along with photo paper and the enlarger and other equipment needed for developing and printing photos. While I have not found a projector with film of a Japanese man explaining my duties, I do find hundreds of old black and white photos of Japanese men and women standing in what is now my house. I’m still looking for the projector though…

We are always fighting off wild creatures such as snakes (well...Alice fought it off) and ants (which I think might be the others...they are always accompanied by columns of smoke….from the fires we set to get rid of them….). I haven’t seen a polar bear yet, but I bet its out there.

Another and possibly most compelling reason I’m almost certain I live on the island is that there is a button I have to push every day. Every night as the sun goes down and our tiny battery is drained of it’s solar energy, a loud and shrill alarm goes off warning that we MUST hit the button (on the inverter). I’m honestly not sure what would happen if we didn’t push the button, but I’ve been warned that its something like the end of the world.

It’s possible that most of this is explained by the fact that my house at one time belonged to the Japanese NGO, Association to Aid Refugees (AAR). This was in the heyday of Meheba when this 750 sq. km. camp was home to 120,000 refugees and was teaming with NGO’s, foreign aid money, and infrastructure. But I don’t think that’s really it. I mean, it doesn’t explain the button.

I’m waiting for the polar bear….

Oh Happy Day - August 11

I had the joyous opportunity to see my parents in South Africa recently. As they are loving and kind parents, they saw fit to bring me an ENTIRE suitcase full of goodies (!!) as well as taking me to lovely vineyards and wineries to taste and be merry. And merry I am, as I brought back two bottle of some of the most lovely wine I have had in ages. If you ever see a wine from Boekenhoustkloof in South Africa, buy it. Don’t think twice. Buy a bottle, drink it and enjoy it, and then send a case to me in Meheba :) I can’t believe a bottle from the winery was the equivalent of $4. Outstanding!

This evening Jeremy and I decided to indulge ourselves with two of the goodies I brought back from South Africa: Chili spices from Texas and Boekenhoustkloof wine (a lovely pairing actually). We were able to find green peppers in the market in Solwezi and were inspired to make the 2 Alarm Texas Chili my parents brought me to make the best darn bean chili this side of the….Nile? I dare say yes.

And I dare say we deserved it. While I am sure you all are tired of reading about ants, I guarantee you I am more tired of fighting them. Last night we saw a return of the ants, thankfully outside our house this time, and rallied the troops (aka book bus volunteers that have been camping behind our house for two weeks) and created an all-too-efficient-for-Zambia assembly line collecting leaves and brush and creating a perimeter to burn to keep the ants away. It worked. I hope this is the last we see of them. Fingers crossed….perpetually.