Durable Solutions

When discussing a protracted refugee situation, its always important to keep in mind the three durable solutions. UNHCR describes these durable solutions as a.)repatriation, b.) local integration, or c.) resettlement to a third country.

These each have their own merits, but according to UNHCR the most favourable is repatriation. In this solution lies an acknowledgment that the home country is safe enough for return and a hope that these refugees will be able to play a key role in rebuilding their war-torn country upon their return. There are tri-party talks between the home country, the host country and UNHCR to agree on the logistics and numbers of repatriating refugees and to give assistance to returnees. Repatriation amongst Angolan refugees in Meheba has been almost non-existent for the past few years, but for some reason has considerably picked up this year. Already over 800 people have repatriated this year and UNHCR says they are on course for repatriating nearly 1,500 by the end of December. Its exciting to see this spontaneous movement of people back to their home countries. When the first trucks left Meheba we heard cheering and yelling along the sides of the roads as the trucks drove past bursting with excited returnees bound for Angola. A refugee is stateless; a returnee is granted full privileges and rights as a citizen of their country. A refugee, at least in Zambia, is restricted in their movement and ability to do commerce outside of the camp; a returnee has freedom of movement, the right to a passport, and the opportunity to pursue careers wherever they please. I can only imagine what it must be like to turn in your refugee card and receive your citizenship again. What must it feel like after twenty years in exile to regain an identity in the country you fled? To finally have rights and privileges and to be able to relinquish the title of “refugee”? Next week, I hope I get a glimpse of that. Jeremy and I have been given the chance to accompany a repatriation convoy to the Angolan boarder. At this boarder their lives will change. Some of these people will be setting foot in their “home country” for the first time, having been born in Meheba yet dubbed Angolan refugees. Others will cross an invisible line that has been uncross-able for them for over thirty years.

As a refugee, you are not allowed to return to your home country without giving up your refugee status, even just for a short visit to assess the conditions for return or to pop over the boarder to do business. By returning to your country you are “choosing to avail yourself of the protection of your home government” and thus acknowledge that you no longer need the protection of the UN. This protection has been called into question as the number of Internally Displaced Peoples (IDP) camps grow in many countries where the government is neither able nor willing to protect all of their citizens even within their own boarders.

This same lack of protection, or felt lack of protection, from their home countries contributes to the unwillingness or inability of many people to ever return. In this case, UNHCR looks to the other two durable solutions: resettlement or local integration. In Zambia it seems that local integration is not an option. While many of the Angolan refugees in Meheba have lived in Zambia all their lives, speak the local languages, and even look like the local population, Zambia has been unwilling to explore the idea of nationalizing these refugees and allowing them to stay and live as Zambians. With upwards of 84% unemployment in this region, its not altogether hard to understand.

Many of the Congolese and Rwandese refugees are holding out for the third durable solution, resettlement. This is the topic of constant conversation in the camp. I have never heard a Rwandese express a desire for repatriation, and its rare in the Congolese community as well. It seems someone is always trying to get resettlement, just finding out about interviews for resettlement, going to IOM for health checks, or waiting for a plane ticket. While I know of several people who have been resettled or are waiting for resettlement, I’ve yet to see a group leave from Meheba. Resettlement is a delicate and long process and there are no guarantees. While many people look at being resettled as the end-all-be-all, I’ve known people who work with resettled refugees in the States and comment on how difficult it is to start a new life there. While there are NGOs that work to help resettled refugees find jobs and housing, its not easy and the phobias of the surrounding community can sometimes be severe. Many refugees are resettled to places such as Norway or Alaska, which have very different climates to say the least.

While the Congolese refugees in Meheba don’t seem to be interested in repatriation, that’s not the case in other camps around Zambia. Many of you may recall my early posts mentioning Sara, that we trained with in Oakland and who works for FORGE in Kala Camp in Lulapula Province. Since our arrival here four months ago, the size of Kala has dropped by 60% with repatriating Congolese. The other camp in Northern Province where FORGE operates, Mwange, has seen similar repatriation and is scheduled to close entirely in December of this year. For this reason, FORGE has decided to open a new office in Moba, Democratic Republic of Congo. You can read all about the efforts on the FORGE website. Sara will be moving to Moba to work in January and to start FORGE projects amongst the returnee community there. I think this is an exciting new chapter for FORGE and will look on in eager anticipation.

If you like plagues of locust, and getting caught in the rain

Rainy season has come early. We thought at first that perhaps there was just a fluke thunderstorm in September. Everyone told us that the first rains come on October 24th, and this exact date was given over and over again, so we assumed that rainy season couldn’t possibly have begun yet. We were wrong.

The first rain came in September, and we were completely caught off guard. It was more of a sprinkle than a real rain storm, and the refugees, while shocked, said that it wasn’t really rain but more of a warning to the farmers to get ready to plant. I accepted this. The next rain in September, however, was a full out thunderstorm. It was unlike any storm I had seen with lightening that could steal the thunder of any fireworks show. The rain storm lasted about two hours and then the rain stopped for a couple of weeks.

This past week, October 5-9, its rained three times. We’re nowhere near October 24th, but the skies don’t seem to care. They seem to be bellowing loudly, “rainy season is here [suckers].”

Aside from the audible confirmation from the heavens, there is yet another way to unmistakably tell that rainy season has arrived: the bugs. Riding home from Block G on Monday I was left wondering what we had done to bring about the plagues. A downpour had lulled us to sleep the night before and the skies were looking like they were ready for an encore. Apparently the day after the first rain (the first real rain that is) millions of flying insects are unleashed for one day only and they intend to use the entirety of their brief engagement to create as much havoc as possible. If you’ve ever seen the cottonwood fill the air like snow, you’ll have an idea of what this infestation looks like. Only this little plague of (not technically) locusts like to smack you in the face, fly into your ears and nose and mouth and down your shirt and plaster themselves on your sunglasses as you ride your bike. I feel for windshields. Its less than pleasant.

The second plague was less obvious at first, but just as perilous. The ground was slick as the rain turned the dust into mud and taking sharp turns became a balancing act fit for the circus. To make it worse, every few feet I was forced to swerve to avoid squishing the masses of frogs that had suddenly overpopulated the roads. How does a little rain suddenly produce that many full grown frogs out of nowhere?

While the bugs and frogs were bad and the humidity was smothering, we at least took solace in the fact that we were outriding the rain on our way back from G (about an hour ride). It looked like it would rain again and we contemplated pausing at Road 36 to wait it out before heading home. We had iPods and phones to think about...We chatted with one of the FORGE staff members at Road 36 and he said not to worry about it, that we would make it home before the rain came. We took his advice. He must be a faster rider than we are.

There’s nothing quite like getting completely drenched. As the first few raindrops hit you, you try to ride harder thinking that maybe if you’re fast enough the raindrops can’t catch you. As more raindrops catch you, you are reminded you aren’t Lance Armstrong. As even more raindrops catch you, you realize its futile to run and its best to just enjoy the spontaneity of getting caught in the rain. And it is enjoyable, especially when the temperature drops an instant 10 degrees.

Until the hail. HAIL!?! Its 95 degrees outside, and its hailing?!?! Pea sized hail pelting you from above, flying insects assaulting you from all sides, frogs giving you the agility and balance workout of your life, and rain drenching you to the core. Its almost biblical.

But really….I loved it. All in a days work. I had spent that morning working with our Refugee Health Services coordinator as she gathered together a group in the market in G and taught on STIs. This woman is incredible. G can be an intimidating place, especially the market. The men are built, the women are strong, and half the people are drinking by 11am. They also don’t have a clinic for miles, and her preventative health talks are extremely important. Speaking in the crowded public market about sex and disease she handled that crowd with poise and expertise. She answered questions on gonorrhea and syphilis, handed out condoms, and urged people to be tested and treated. This is the front lines, and no plagues or rainstorm can dampen the high that comes from being a part of that.

Eway, Mwane, Sana, Jambo, Kaze and Fred

When we first arrived in Meheba I was so excited to see that the FORGE house had cats!! Jeremy was decidedly less excited (and in fact somewhat upset) at this discovery, but came around to the idea when he heard that the cats were there to keep the rats and mice and bats under control. As well, Sherie and Sabah ensured us that the cats would become the single greatest source of entertainment around the compound. We didn’t believe them at first, but over time the truth of that statement has been proven again and again (and again by way of the length of this post).

When we first arrived there were four cats. One cat, whose name is Eway (pronounced EE-Way, meaning “Hey you” in Luvalle and is a popular name for Muzungus to name their animals) has been here since the first FORGE project manager four years ago. He was brought to the compound with his brother and both lived here for awhile until one day a stray female cat wondered over. She was promptly given the name Mwane, which means...well technically “respect” in Luvalle, but is probably the most commonly used word in the entire language. I have heard entire conversations last for over a minute using almost exclusively the word mwane.

With the arrival of Mwane, it wasn’t long before Eway’s wild animal instinct took over and he chased away his brother (or the competition as it was) and Mwane became pregnant. Mwane had a litter of two kittens, one of whom was named Sana, the Swahili word for “very” or “much” and the other was named Pedro (as apparently he had a little patch of black over his lip that made a very convincing mustache. I wasn’t involved in the naming). Apparently just as Sherie and Sabah arrived Mwane had another litter but they didn’t make it. A few weeks into their stay in Meheba the bat population was getting a little out of control so they put bat poison out. The following morning Pedro was found dead, and thus I have vowed that during our time here bat poisoning will no longer take place.

A little while later Mwane again became pregnant (seriously, Eway is a haas) and she gave birth to one kitten who was named Jambo (the Swahili word for “hello”). And so it was that we found Eway, Mwane, Sana and Jambo upon our arrival at FORGE. We hadn’t been here long before it became apparent that Mwane was, yet again, pregnant. Only this time, it appeared that she wasn’t the only one. We happened to be the first group of PM’s to have the luck of two female adult cats in the compound, and even though Sana was technically his daughter, apparently Eway had no qualms about getting her pregnant as well.

And thus, we find ourselves with 10 cats. That’s right: 10. Mwane gave birth to a litter of 4, and Sana gave birth to three, though one of them died within the first couple of days. The little rugrats are about 7 weeks old now and are just about the cutest little animals you’ve ever seen. But seriously, 10 cats. Even if most of them are pint sized at the moment, there is just no way we can keep them. We found several peace corps volunteers who will take four of them (we’re definitely giving away incest kitties) but we just can’t bring ourselves to give away all six. As such, Jeremy and I have each chosen one to spoil rotten and bring up to be “our cats.”

Mine is Fred. He’ all black and I’ve always wanted a black cat, and in my opinion, he is clearly the best cat that ever lived. Jeremy’s cat is Kaze (a KenyaRwandan name meaning “come here” because our Rwandan staff complained that we only had Swahili and Luvalle names) and he is white with black patches all over him.

The other two kittens from Mwane were named Gili and Gili after (like the classy folks we are) the alcohol packets that are prevalent in the camp and all of Zambia really. They’re little plastic pouches of some of the most vile and strongest alcohol you’ve ever had. Its about 2 shots worth per pouch, and they sell for the whopping price of $0.20 a packet. There are tons of flavors, but I think the funniest has to be “Rambo” which is pineapple flavor and comes with a fabulous picture of Sylvester Stilone on it. I wonder if he’s getting royalties from that...probably not. GiliGili is horrible, ridiculous and amazing all at the same time, and I can’t for the life of me think of why they aren’t being sold in the United States. Imagine if you could bring tons of tiny little plastic sachets full of alcohol into ball games and get completely wasted on $2. Ok, on second thought, I can think of exactly why they are not sold in the United States…in fact, they were banned here for a short time because someone was dared to drink 17 (!!!!) in one sitting, and it ended up killing him. The rumors are that the beer makers in Zambia are up in arms about these sachets because no one wants to pay $1.50 for a beer anymore. Although really, I don’t think I can accurately describe the vileness of the alcohol in these things…But it would be a serious blow to the culture if they were discontinued, and so a report was put out that warned people to dilute them and drink responsibly, and they were promptly un-banned. And How!

But I digress. The other two cats, incest kitties, are named Pole (pronounced pole-lay, the Swahili word for “sorry” because really, he’s an incest kitty) and Chairman Meow. I know, its brilliant :) And I can’t claim it. That was 100% Kirk (the volunteer) who had the naming rights to Chairman Meow, and I think it was a solid effort.

And thus, the entire lineage and genealogy of the Meheba cat family, which currently totals 10 but will be reduced to the respectable six within a couple of weeks. That’s still respectable right?