Sister Act 2

I wasn't going to write anything today to give you all a break from my mad ramblings, but then something amusing happened.

I was in the kitchen in my lodge cooking my tea. Exildah, one of the staff that works here was in there, too and she was cooking for someone else so we were just chatting while we cooked. We were getting to know each other. I was asking her about the work she does and where else she has worked and she was asking me about me ever wanting to get married.

The conversation was a lovely, mellow one and she's so endearing and cute. When she left the kitchen we gave eachother a hug. As I was pulling away she cupped both hands right on my boobs and said 'I like your big breasts'.

She then started poking and prodding them in admiration and awe.

Rather than be shocked, I couldn't help p**sing myself, and she clearly meant it in a harmless way. I laughed, she laughed and then she went on her merry way.

So that got me thinking about one of my (many) favourite things about travelling and meeting new people.

The sisterhood.

Granted, this post might be a little 'boy unfriendly', but the sisterhood is a beautiful feeling that I often have in my life that I feel like sharing.

Its the natural, holistic understanding you have with other women and I especially find it when I travel because it has no cultural boundaries. Therefore a lot of the connections that I make are female where we don't need a common language to just 'know' something about each other.

Women all know what it is to be emotional wrecks some times. Of course, that's not exclusive to women, but hand in hand with knowing that you're going to experience sometimes crippling pain every month while your body does what it does, and that you're going to experience even bigger pain when the babies come is a solely female thing.

And there's more. Words can't really explain it. It's a feeling that comes with sitting outside doing each other's hair. Sharing clothes. Secretly whispering to your friend that her skirt is tucked in her knickers. Listening to one another talk about boys even though the conversation is going around in circles. Being able to ask all the questions that you want to about stuff that's embarrassing. Being tactile. Giggling.

Just being understood.

Just knowing that you are definitely going to go through some of the same things in your life at some point.

Maybe I'm alone in this feeling? It would be interesting to know if any other girls identify with a universal 'girl' connection. There are obvious exceptions to the rule. I mean, I'm sure I wouldn't naturally identify with Rose West if I met her. Or Maggie Thatcher. Or that Chinese lady who killed that British business man because of something to do with politics.

 I would also like to know if there is a universal 'brotherhood' and what makes it so, if there is one. Maybe some boys can enlighten me on that?

I just think as a general rule, girls rock and are sympathetic and sensitive to each other.

I would just like it to be known in BIG CAPITAL LETTERS THAT I AM NOT A FEMINIST!!!

I really don't like hardcore feminism, it offends me, however I love my girls, all around the world.

Now I'm going to go and listen to Beyonce songs all night and watch bridesmaids.....

x

White Roller Drongos

Ah, so Africa hasn't quite cured me of all my flaws and weaknesses. It can't have mellowed me entirely or softened the reactive and impulsive in me yet. Why?

Because today there was another white person in the village and we literally stared each other out.

She was giving me evil eyes, and I was giving her evil eyes and it was like this little seed of malcontent in my tummy went 'BOOM' and grew into a rage of jealousy. Who the hell does she think she is in my town?

Haha! How pathetic. Maybe I'm dramatising for effect, but the fact is that in a culture where everyone greets each other, we were perhaps most conspicuous not because of our skin colour, but because of our antisocial personas.

But luckily I'm taking that as another lesson learned. Don't be a bitch. Be nice. Love everyone. Put your claws away.

On a positive note, today I saw the best bird in the world. I learned that it was a lilac breasted roller. Look it up, its amazing. I also learned today that there's a type of bird called a drongo. Which I found quite funny.

But when I look at birds, or do other stuff I enjoy - read books, walk a lot, etc, people can't believe it. I don't know why. I stopped to look at this lilac breasted roller and someone walked past me and asked me what I was doing. When I told them I liked the bird they said 'WHAT? You're looking at a bird??' and walked off lauging.

Yesterday I sat on the front lawn of my lodge and read my book and someone came up to me and laughed and said 'Haha! You're reading!'. I wasn't sure what to say. 'Urm...yeah'.

Same thing when I was sunbathing in the lodge the other day. Just sitting on a chair in the sun after work, one of the girls in the lodge came up to me and couldn't believe I was sunbathing. She looked SO confused. And asked me why on earth I was sunbathing. When I tell people here I like the sun, they look at me as if I've just sh*t myself.

I go out to watch the sun go down most evenings. It's so beautiful. A huge pink bauble on the horizon every night. So I watch it and people are looking at me like I'm the mad old woman that might start hitting you with an umbrella.

Same as the stars. So many beautiful stars, but you'd think I was the elephant man the way people look at me when I stay out to watch them.

Am I doing something wrong? Maybe I've accidentally got my boobs out when I'm doing all of these things. Or maybe someone is playing the peg game on me all the time. Maybe I'm looking at the birds on 'no bird-watching' day, or maybe they think I'm worshipping the sun and I'm a pagan heretic.

Or maybe, just maybe - I should quit worrying about what people think? Yes - that's number two lesson of the day learned. Stop worrying. Be yourself. Love it all. Put your crazy neurons away.

I'm going to walk the long way home from work (not that I'm writing this in work, Welsh Assembly Government) and see if I can see any more rollers or drongos. I will keep you updated because I'm absolutely positive you'll be on the edge of your seats in anticipation otherwise.

:)

A simpleton...

This is what Zambia, or at least the province that I am in, looks like.

It's beautiful and yesterday I went for a 10 mile hike in the bush.

It's dry, there are birds everywhere, it's flat, there are red, sandy dirt tracks leading the way and not a cloud in the sky.

There are few telephone wires, few vehicles, and no artificial noises.

There are mud hut villages dotted just behind the road sides and beyond, almost completely camouflage but for the flashes of the strong colour of the material that the villagers have hung out to dry.

There are fallen fruits from tall trees that litter the ground and the occassional procession of slow moving cattle, seemingly alone with no farmer, just the bells on their neck saying that they are owned.

Sometimes a sudden cackle of guinea fowl jumping from the bushes, random shouts of 'herro mamma' at me, but when I look the grasses are too high and I can't see who's calling.

Every now and then a beautiful, strong woman carrying a tall bucket of water on her head that splashes slightly as she walks.

There are cotton fields, maize fields, goats, chickens, pumpkins, tomatoes, fruits I've never seen before, trees I've never seen before, a dam with an abundance of fish, which I've never seen before....

And it all just feels so right. I don't think I can explain how 'complete' it feels to be walking in the vast countryside.

It's hard work to live here, I know. The water source is far away, there is tilling and toiling to be done in the fields, there are poverty issues and hardships, but I haven't met one person who isn't smiling. I haven't met one person who hasn't offered me something or welcomed me with open arms. I haven't met one person who doesn't appreciate family values, or one person who hasn't asked me if I'm enjoying Zambia.

But they ask me what the U.K. is like. And, to be honest I don't know what to tell them.

They hear that's it's wonderful. And, yes there are some amazing things about it. I'm especially enthusiastic when I tell them about Wales and the mountains, its coastline and the countryside. But then they ask me about the government, the lifestyle, jobs, food etc.

If I think about it, about our culture in Britain, I see it in stark contrast to life here in Africa. Our lifestyle and society is about growth. We want more, we want to develop more. We want the latest gadgets. We want the best education. We want cars, more money, bigger T.V.s, more channels, better iphone, ipads, cameras. We want to look amazing every time we go out. We want a full wardrobe, make-up, fancy shoes, a perfect relationship. The government wants us to be an economic powerhouse in the international community. We want success in our careers. We want to build more houses, more businesses, more opportunities to make money. We want more.

We always want more.

And while we strive to want bigger, better, more, faster - we forget to smile at each other. We don't greet strangers. We fear crime, we fear loss, we fear making eye contact with the person across the road who looks a little different. Kids swear. People throw litter. People waste. We leave our lights on, our taps running. We complain if we have to catch a bus because our car is in the garage. We moan at the weather. We moan at the news. We moan at the price of luxury.

My philosophy for a long time has been about simplifying things. Making sense of our lives isn't about gain. There is never going to be a point in a person's lifetime when they have the realisation that they've made it, or at least that feeling can't be sustained. The eureka moment will not come while we are striving for material growth. Our revelations get lost in competition.

I really believe that we'll understand more about ourselves and each other, about life, about it's meaning and its purpose when we strip things away. When we focus on less, not more.

That might be idealistic, but there is proof that it can be done. The proof is Zambia. There may not be many smart phones here, but there is contentment in abundance. And it feels so right....

Geek squad

I'm a history geek. Medieval history. And my favourite time period is the Plantaganet Empire in Western Europe, especially the reign of Henry II. Well, it's Eleanor of Aquitaine, his wife, that I love the most, but really I just love the whole thing.

I'm not afraid to admit that I own three medieval dresses, one of which my dad bought me in Carcasonne, the medieval French town where they filmed Robin Hood Prince of Thieves, which was pretty much my favourite day ever.

I've probably lost a few readers with that last revelation, but it's the truth and it's me. If it makes me a loser, then I'm a proud loser.

Anyway, why am I telling you this?

Well, in the 1170's when Henry II was king he had a massive bust up with Thomas Becket. Thomas Becket, (who was a bit of a knob if you ask me), ended up being murdered by some knights who thought they were doing the king a favour because Becket was causing him so much trouble. Some people think Henry even ordered his death. The point is they had a huge falling out that lasted years and years. Which is quite sad, really, because they used to be really close.

The really short version of why they fell out was this; When Thomas Becket became Archbishop of Canterbury he started shaking up the church a bit. At the time, if monks and priests were corrupt, abusing their power or doing anything naughty there were two systems to process justice, which often compromised each other. Thomas wanted naughty priests tried in the church court because the church had ultimate authority under those in holy orders, but Henry wanted them tried in a secular court because he thought, well they're not that holy if they're raping nuns, are they? And also, most of them just get a tap on the wrist and told to do some penance or pilgrimage if they go to church court. In fact, the case that started all this off was actually a rape case and the priest got away with it because he was tried in an ecclesiastical court.

Henry and Thomas tried to sort things out by drafting the Constitutions of Clarendon, but Becket got killed or martyred, whichever way you want to look at it, before it ever really resolved itself.

Ok, so again - why am I telling you this?

I've always wanted to go back in time and experience the complexities, the people, the politics etc of that time and know what it was like. The last few days of work in Zambia has been buzzing because the situation that my bosses are dealing with is soooooooooooo similar and it's making me feel like I'm in medieval times. In fact, I think I should wear a medieval dress at the next board meeting.

I'm working with land disputes, which are complicated enough, but to add to the mix - tiny villages that are experiencing land disputes try the dispute in what's called a 'traditional' court. It's presided over by the Chief and the head of the village, but it's all based on ancient custom, tradition and history. But there are those that think they should be tried in a district law court or a provincial court if needs be. These are based on modern, national laws. The problem is the little villages don't feel like a national government could pay heed to tradition and custom, and the national government have to have a balance between that tradition and the conventional, accepted laws of the country.

Plus, most of Zambia is rural.

Hmmmmm....what to do? Well, the situation needs it's version of the Constitutions of Clarendon, which is basically what I'm helping to do.

How amazing is that? I didn't even need a time machine! Tomorrow, I'm going to ask the board to dress up as knights and talk Olde Worlde while they work just to satisfy my inner geek.

The biggest differences and major disappointments are;

1. It's the 21st century
2. I'm not Eleanor of Aquitaine

Apart from that, I'm buzzing.

Tomorrow we have a meeting with all the villagers in a certain village who are going to present their ideas and arguements for what they want in the draft plan.

I've got a feeling this might be one of the most boring posts that most of you have read on this blog, but it's by far my favourite. I got to say Eleanor of Aquitaine three times and mention Robin Hood Prince of Thieves.

For now...TO THE TREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!!!!

Whaty?

My boss here is amazing.

He works so hard and he's really in touch with people and open minded.

These last few days I've been making lots of courtesy calling visits to Commissioners, Counsellors, Ministers, Chiefs of Police etc, all the people in the town where I've been posted that have something to do with land rights. I'll be visiting the villages tomorrow to meet the Chiefs and the village heads who are those on the other side of the land rights argument.

So, just in case I haven't explained it - my job is to strengthen the capacity and impact of a branch of a Zambian national body called the Land Alliance. It's a policy maker at the top end of its function and on the bottom end an advocacy, lobbying and development agency that is affiliated to just about every public and third sector body in Zambia.

Boring bit over - my boss is amazing.

One of the best things about him is how he speaks. He chairs most of the meetings I've been to in the last few days and he speaks a lot about serious things. But almost every two sentences or so he says to the group 'are we together?' and the rest of the board will shout in unison 'ah ha!' or 'YES!'. It's another way of saying, 'do you understand?'

The other thing he does is say a sentence and then repeat it with the last word missing, which he replaces with 'whaty?' (meaning, 'what?), and everyone shouts in the blank.

So for example, (and bear in mind that this is an important meeting, with important people in suits and in a posh looking conference room with pots of coffee on the table......)

My boss: 'So we are here today to talk about the land rights of rural women in Zambia. We want to stop the corruption of land abuses in the districts and in the town, are we together?'

Important people in suits: (loud) 'YES!'

So how are we going to do this? We are going to fight, I say, fight! Are we together?

'YES!'

'So we fight corruption, we find the corruption and we fight it - we fight the whaty?'

'CORRUPTION'

'We ask the villagers to present the petitions, so that they can be heard. We ask for their views through signing the whaty?'

'THE PETITIONS'

'Yes, the petitions, and we fight, are we together?'

'YES'

'So we start by whaty?'

'FINDING CORRUPTION!

And so it goes.....

Every now and again there is a moment when no-one really knows what the missing word is and there's a few muffled whispered voices all saying different things. Either that or a complete tumbleweed moment where the only noise in the room is the muted hustle and bustle of the market outside.

The other thing that is amazing, (and I think most people here do this), is that a word with one syllable gets an 'ee' sound added to it. So 'cup' tends to sound like 'cuppee', but words with more than two syllables get a bit taken off. So 'wonderful' is 'wonderf'. 'Careful' is 'Caref'. It took me ages to get it - especially because everyone speaks so flippin' quickly.

The exception to that rule is my name. They've settled on Luce, or Roos, whichever they can more easily pronounce. But I don't get how if 'Cup' can get an 'ee', why can't 'Luc'? Not that I really care. Call me what you want, you're welcoming me into your country so warmly, you could call me Phillip and I'd still be happy. Just confused.

'Welc, Roos - its wanderf to havee youra pres in Zambia. You willee findee youra workee to be fruitf and reward. Dure youra stayee rememb to alway be inform to us of any prob'

Something like that, anyway.

So on to emotions - I'm really, really happy here. I'm just complete, and myself. I get this culture, I feel so at home, I feel productive and effective, I feel confident and energetic. It's taken me such a long time to find this place in my head, but now I'm here, I know it. I can feel it. I can feel myself being real and it's absolute wonderf.

I'm happy with my job, too - way much more responsibility than I thought and exciting/challenging/nerve-wracking to think that my actions could have far reaching consequences.

In general - aaaaaaall good.

There are a few things I don't like though. Like, today, I saw a turkey in the luggage hold of a coach. He looked really sad.

 

I'm not really sure animal cruelty is hot on the Zambian agenda. I've seen pigs squashed in the back of pick up trucks on their way into town and cows, too.

One amusing thing that I saw, and I really want my boyfriend to be reading this because he LOVES fixing stuff with tape, was a taped up bus. My boss told me that when I wanted to go back to Lusaka, I should get the luxury bus because it's the best and it's brilliant and it's fast and it's reliable and, blah blah.

Yes, that is parcel tape.

Now its time to wash the sand out of my hair and off my feet, to readjust my mosquito net, give my room the once over for threatening looking species of spider, do my workout routine and get into bed to read my book that my friend Leo bought for me to go away with.

I'll write again when I can, but meanwhile - I would love some more comments from people because there was a tiny little moment I had earlier where I felt a bit out of things and far away and if you know me, you know I frickin' hate to be out of the loop, :)

Zambian loving

x

Strength

In Zambia people say the time in the 24 hour clock.

So when I arrived and someone told me they would meet me at 20, it was one of those really confusing conversations when you have to keep asking 'pardon' all the time because you don't get it.

I was saying, '20 what?'
He was saying 'yeah, 20'.
I was saying, 'what's the road name?'
He was saying, 'what road name?'
Me: '20 what?'
Him: 'No, no, just 20'

And so it goes on.

If that was at home I would be embarrassed for hours about that silly conversation, but I don't feel heavy with embarrassment here. I laughed at myself. He laughed at me. Then it was fine.

Something else funny happened today, which again was fine. If it was home it would have been so ridiculous and possibly rude if it would ever happen at all. But here - totally fine. Even with me - stress head, 'what will the neighbours say', me - fine.

So, after I arrived at my lodge and my manager left me I wanted to buy some bottled water, but they had run out in my lodge. So I thought, I'll walk around the town until I find somewhere, but everywhere looked quite shut. It's a Sunday and pretty much everyone is worshipping or already drinking, so I was a bit stuck as to where to get some water. I noticed this woman walking behind me and I turned to her and said, 'Excuse me, I wa...' She cut me off sharp with a massive gutterall sound of welcome and a sort of a screamy laugh thing and a huge slappy shake of the hand. 'Welcome, welcome!' She said. I asked her where was open now so I could buy some water and she said, 'Come with me, I will take you'. I did tell her that it was ok and she could just direct me, but she insisted she would walk with me.

I actually really appreciated it because I had no idea where I was, really. She took me to one shop and they had also run out. We had chatted along the way and by this time I knew she lived quite far away and that we were walking in the opposite direction. I told her that I was grateful, but she could leave and I would find some water myself. 'No, no!' She said. 'We will find you some water!'

So we went to the next shop. Nothing. She was determined to help me and wouldn't stop until I was ok. Finally after a few twists and turns we found a shop selling bottled water. I was so grateful to her because I would never have found it otherwise and I really did want some. At the shop I asked her if she wanted anything, it was the least I could do because she had walked me all the way there. I saw they sold 7up, Fanta, Coke, etc and I asked her to choose something she wanted. She looked really shocked and grateful that I had offered and she said 'really? I can have something? Anything I want?' I said that it was ok, of course, she had done me a great favour so she could choose whatever she wanted, bless her.

She said, 'in that case I'll have chicken and chips, a cocktail and some top up air time for my phone from the bar opposite'.

...

Fine.

...

So I bought her dinner at this place and we sat and listened to the live band playing the lambada in African style and talked about kids and the Tonga language and people. We talked a bit of music, a bit of men and a bit of politics.

People here, in fact I have found in lots of African countries, know about their politics. Me, I couldn't really tell you who anyone is in our government apart from the obvious Cameron and Clegg, but here they can tell you about the political history of their towns, provinces, countries and the whole region in quite some detail.

I have enjoyed several conversations about colonialism already. People mention it here a lot more than they do in other countries I have been to. It's definitely brought out the guilt complex in me and I have found myself becoming angry at the shameful actions of historic Britain. I feel embarrassed that the West still has some superiority complex and a sense of entitlement to resources and land that isn't really theirs.

But a friend who I met on my first night here, in response to my rant about it all, simply patted me on the shoulder and said 'Lucy, let bygones be bygones...' Wow. That's amazing. These guys are still struggling with internal conflicts, the seeds of which were sown by the British, they've had their natural resources pillaged by foreign interested parties since Livingstone and even now they have to accept low paying jobs working for European or Chinese rich people, and their attitude is one of forgiveness and patience.

This is the biggest lesson I have learnt so far. Anger doesn't really get you anywhere.

There was another thing that made me lament Western culture, but the thought has its roots in tragedy.

In my lodge in Lusaka there was a swimming pool, and while I was at work on Friday a boy drowned in it. He and some school friends were messing about and the boy jumped in, I think showing off, but none of them could swim. This is terrible. It is sad and it is terrible, terrible for the parents, for the friends and for the community. But the parents accepted that he couldn't swim and he shouldn't have jumped in the pool.

The next day as I was sitting waiting for my lunch there was a large group of people being baptised in the same pool.

If that was in Britain, someone, somewhere would sue something. The whole area would be cordoned off for an investigation that would produce evidence so that someone could use it to press charges and sue the lodge. Then there would more than likely be a campaign to change health and safety regulations around pools and children. A bit like how they've banned sand pits in some counties because they pose a health and safety risk. A bit like in some parks (in the North of England, I think), they have banned playing ball games because of health and safety. And you can't take photos in some public places because you're probably a paedophile taking pictures of young kids. You can't change the clothes of a kid if they've wet themselves at nursery without phoning their parents for permission first because you might be a child molester.

It isn't like that here. People are strong, strong enough to live without a blame culture, strong enough to say what they want, especially if they want chicken and chips and a cocktail. Strong enough to forgive, strong enough to ask questions, strong enough to live their lives honestly and accept tragedy and blessings for what they are.

It makes me really happy to be here, and really happy to be learning these lessons.

:)

A series of unfortunate events...

Just as I knew in my heart they would, as soon as I got to my lodge my pre trip nerves disappeared. And now I feel stupid for banging on in previous posts about all the fear stuff. I comfort myself with the fact that I knew this would happen, so I'm only half stupid, but I recognise that that still makes me...half stupid.

However, this is the first trip for a long time that things have actually sort of gone a bit wrong on arrival, which wasn't great at the time, but funny in retrospect. And nothing serious.

The first thing that went wrong was I was late. I was late because of storms over Amsterdam, and for the same reason I was terrified. Did I mention I'm not a good flyer? I downed valium and it was sort of ok.

Because I was late everything was closed when I got to the airport. That includes the bureau de change, and seeing as you can't get Zambian Kwacha outside of Zambia and that they just changed the law to mean they won't accept dollars here, it meant I had no useable money on me. However, all that is irrelevant because the water shop I so wanted to find in the airport on arrival didn't exist anyway. They confiscated all my water at the gate in Amsterdam and so I was freaking out that I was going to dehydrate on the plane and arrive in Africa all shrivelled. I didn't, but still, I was looking forward to the water shop. But it didn't exist.

So I waited for an hour and a half in an immigration queue. And by the time I got out it was almost midnight. That was ok, though. My country manager who met me, Peter, he was understanding and he just took me straight to my lodge for some sleep.

Luckily, my cleanser and toner leaked in my toiletries bag and through to all my clothes en route. Oh and all over my toothbrush. So I couldn't clean my teeth. Well, I did, but with my finger and no water because I was scared that I was going to get cholera from the brown water that comes out the taps in my lodge.

It didn't really matter, though because at least I could sort stuff out first thing tomorrow morning. Oh no - I couldn't because I got picked up at eight o' clock for my first day of work in the head office! But that's ok because at least I can go into the office stinking of the witch hazel, tea tree and ethanol that makes up my cleanser and toner. Grrr.....

So anyway, that doesn't matter. At least my new big boss would be there to meet me and reassure me that he didn't mind me smelling of alcohol. Hmm...well that's what I thought. It turns out he didn't turn up, anyway. He got called to an important meeting, so I got put in an office and sort of left to my own devices. But those devices weren't really sure what they were doing because I hadn't had a brief or a meeting or any real conversations with anyone other than the information officer who was amazing, but just told me things I already knew. All this not knowing and not speaking and not having people around me was kind of getting to me, not because I can't be independent, but bear in mind I still hadn't had any water and my concentration was kinda going.

So that's ok, at least everyone is finishing at one on a Friday. Uh uh - Africa time even applies to working late! So, three o clock finally comes and I ask someone - anyone - to please give me a lift into town so I can get some water, a phone, a toothbrush and some food because by this time I am also very hungry.

Luckily, I find a spar. Of all things - in Africa - a spar.

So my first meal in Zambia was a beef and onion pasty and a packet of bacon wheat crunchies.

The story obviously ends well because I'm fine. I'm writing my blog, which means I'm alive, which means I have water and food and everything I need.

The real stories are happening every minute and I already feel after just two days that I have so much to say and to tell people. This post is beginning to look a bit lengthy, though, so perhaps I'll save it til tomorrow.

For now, from (clearly not) deepest darkest Africa, night night!