Monsterbearda tumblelog

9am Thursday October 22 – 16th day – it’s not about you, it’s about Everyone Else

So I spent most of yesterday just being irritable, and after journaling, I went to the internet café and wanted to find emails to me and being just all around pissed that I was still here and my throat hurt and everything.

And of course that’s just me being a complete idiot, and it took a visit to the orphanage to remind me that just because I’ve had all this enlightenment and perspective and all, it doesn’t mean I won’t occasionally be a selfish asshole (as in wondering why I have to be here AND have a sore throat.  Good grief).

There’s this kid Bilton there, and his name doesn’t sound like Bilton at all, because it’s French maybe, so it sounds like “beauton” or some such, but I just call him Bill, and it still sounds funny when I say his name compared to when they do.  So Bilton’s mom died and his aunts took him in and then his father told the police that his aunts had stolen him and his dad sounds like kind of a bad guy, so social welfare put him at the orphanage until he can be reintegrated back with some portion of his family or other.

Because it’s not an orphanage, it’s a transit home.  And I was talking to Bilton after I heard this and asked him how long he’s been here and he’s been here 3 months, and that’s it, and he’s 12 years old.  Kids can’t stay at the orphanage past 14, because that’s about when boys and girls want to find out about girls and boys (respectively, usually).

So while I’m bitching about a sore throat and not being able to go back to my stable home and loving family and everything (EVERYTHING!) after that is just bonus, these kids experience moments of stability in between the more traumatizing moments of upheaval.  Like becoming a teenager and going through adolescence isn’t hard enough, combine it with constantly being placed in different situations, different friends, different families.  So no amount of reassurance and love and respect and care can make up for the kind of stress and resentment and distrust that must build up from such a situation.

Bilton is a shy kid when you talk directly to him.  But when he’s left free, he’s goofy.  He makes funny faces and dances like a goof and reminds me of myself when I was a kid.  And I can see so much joy and maybe love in his face, and I’m worried that’ll all burn away whenever he has to leave here and he gets caught up in family politics or whatever situation and pretty soon he’ll have to make his own way in the world and maybe, just maybe the stop at this transit home will have given him enough leg up that he can improve the lot life set for him.  And then again maybe not.

So it’s another reminder that I’m helpless, and we’re all helpless in what happens in this life, and we can only do our best, so why stay inside moping about a sore throat when I can go and share a little bit of the love I have with other people.  What else is there, really?

posted 3 years ago

9am Wednesday October 21 – 15th day – Stories Lost and Found

Yesterday I woke up feeling slightly better regarding the whole TD situation, so instead of getting a malaria test, which is what Dorcas wanted, she took me into town to go to the market, which is unbelievably large, to the point where I was completely lost winding through the tiny alleys of shops.  Constantly guys were asking for me to take their picture.  And once I started with one, everyone around them would want a picture too.

Apparently they thought I was going to take their pictures and sell them or something, so Dorcas kept telling everyone I was her son-in-law taking pictures to show the family back home to Canada, of all places.  Pretty hilarious.

The market has pretty much anything you’d ever want.  There’s a hardware section, clothing, food, toys, furniture.  It’s overwhelming.  But there will be pictures.

Later in the day when I was back home, a guy from the church dropped off his testimony, which he wants me to take back and share in America.  Basically kid was abandoned, taken in by a church, reunited with his family, then his dad dies and his relatives attack his mom for whatever his dad left behind, money or whatnot.  So his family spends a month or so living in the jungle, off whatever fruit they can find.  Eventually he ends up being taken in by a missionary who brings him to Jesus, but still after that he ends up living in a bus station and getting beaten up and it’s a pretty depressing story.

But last night, after teaching the staff some more video stuff, we went to Dorcas’ home for some traditional Zambian food, which was all very interesting even if I wouldn’t necessarily want to eat most of it again.  I was even out til 10!  It was nice, being in a home, sitting around talking.  It felt good.  Dorcas has a son named Pietro who is a monster, though.  The kid gets into everything, climbs everything, basically a whirlwind of destruction.  Pretty entertaining.

I woke up this morning with a sore throat.  Didn’t sleep very well either.  I’ve thought about it, and I really just want to be able to say I’ve HAD malaria, not actually go through having it.  Not that I think I have it.  Just that I don’t feel well and don’t want to find out I have it.

posted 3 years ago

8pm Sunday October 18 – 12th day – The Intrusive God and His Sounds

So, one more week, to the day.  One week from this moment I’ll be flying to Dakar, and then to DC.

Last night I’m buying a coke at the bar to go with my dinner, and Marie, the hotel manager is there and she tells me I should buy her a beer.  She says it’s her birthday.  So I buy her a beer.  Maybe it really was her birthday.

This morning I went to church, only just me and four of the kids, and they have Sunday school (I think?  They leave and then come back) so I’m all alone in this church, constantly pointed out as the visitor who they have to use English for, which makes me slightly uncomfortable.  Only towards the end the guy who wasn’t there last week is asking me to say a few words because I won’t be coming back.  I’m not even kidding.  I have audio of all of this.  So I stand up and say a few words while he translates into Bemba.

He’s not done.  He wants me to give the closing prayer.  The closing prayer for the entire church.  Um, ok.  Maybe they don’t realize how uncomfortable that might make a person.  Maybe they’re that comfortable.  So I stand up to pray.  You only live once, right?  Besides, through my accent and the fact that I’m speaking English, who’s going to notice if I screw up.  And I prayed.  And it was good.

One of the pastors wants to set up a meeting with me this week, which is nice and all but… uh, why?  I mean, I get it, I think.  Tending the flock, delivering a message of love back to America maybe?  I can’t tell.  They have good hearts.  That’s all that really matters.

On the walk to church, Steven, one of the kids, asks me why I voted for Barack Obama and not the white guy.  Basically trying to figure out why I’d vote black over white.  So I tried my best to explain that I wasn’t voting based on black or white but on whether I thought they were good people.  But that was a nice moment of honesty about how a kid in Zambia, with a history of oppression (I mean, what place doesn’t have a history of oppression of some type or another) and where a white minority once dominated a black majority, is trying to figure out why I’d like a black guy to be in charge instead of a white guy.  And it’s a good moment to maybe communicate to him that there isn’t a difference between white and black.  So I’m thankful for that.

One thing I really love about being here is the quiet that can exist.  I’ve been living in cities for a while now, and even when not in a city there’s always noise.  The noise of things, of distraction, of televisions left on in different rooms.  Here, at least when I’m not at the lodge, where the bar pumps music for the last 12 hours of every day or so, I can be out on the road or sitting in the yard of the orphanage and there is a beautiful stillness.  The soft chirp of a bird, the hum of crickets and the absence of intrusion.  It’s incredibly peaceful if you stop to hear it.

posted 3 years ago

Saturday October 17 – 11th day – When Eustace Removed the Dragon Scales

3:30pm

Maybe this is what true epiphany feels like.  I am going through some sort of catharsis here.  I spent the morning and early afternoon with the kids.  They helped me wash my clothes their way, by hand.  We played, we sang.  I struggled to remember forgotten praise songs of years past.  I used to teach a youth group in college.  Did you know that?  Most likely you didn’t.  It’s been a long, long time in so many ways.

And here I am in my room, breaking down at the realization that I know absolutely nothing, like everything I ever thought about a person or groups of people was a wrong assumption.  Like everything I ever thought I knew to be right was ignorant.  Suddenly my world has been turned into questions with no answers, and I can’t fathom step one beyond that, because there IS no beyond that.

And the hardest part is that I don’t know how to love these kids.  I don’t think any of us really knows how to best love another human being.  All my life I’ve fought for control.  Control over any situation I put myself in.  And coming here, to Zambia, was one in a long line of small steps of trying to let go of control.  Control is an illusion, of course, but I maintained it all the same.  Only now it’s really coming apart, because I can’t control how well or poorly I love a person.  I can’t control the world to my specifications, my answers, my right and wrong.

In the beginning, the world was without form.  And here I am, without form, seeing the world for the first time.

I don’t know what any of this means.  It might mean absolutely nothing.  I don’t know.  But… but what?  No buts.  I’m without knowledge, without answers, without control.

So here goes nothing.

9pm

Blah.  I just poured out all my troubles to a voice recorder.  Troubles?  Maybe I should just call it the Storm.  People have worse lives than me.  I’m pretty blessed.  It’s not trouble, just change.  A swirl of change.

Infinite Yes.  Right.  Like the creation of infinite possibility and positivity born from something or other.  I don’t know.  Honestly, I’m probably not going to share this.  It might be too much, too abstract, too self-absorbed.  Ha.  Something like that.

I sat and prayed with the kids tonight.  It feels good, to be fed in such a way.

posted 3 years ago

8pm Friday October 16 – 10th day - Nuts

I spent too much of the day in the internet café and not on the internet.  The internet is irritating when it doesn’t work when you want it to, but it’s infuriating when you NEED to use it and not only does it not work but there’s nothing to do about it not working.  Apparently the network (the whole network of Zambia?  It wasn’t clear) was having issues.  Google and Yahoo were timing out and even if I could get my email to even load, I couldn’t send the picture I needed to send.

I missed lunch sitting there and realized part of my irritability was not eating so I got a package of oreo-like cookies and gobbled them down before heading back to the orphanage.

Luckily, hanging out with the kids makes it easier to stop being irritable.  A game of football got started, 3 on 3, and one of the kids on the other team hit me square in the nuts.  Could not have been aimed better.  The worst part was there weren’t any adult males present to appreciate it.  So I’m on my hands and knees laughing (because really, what else can you do at that point?) and the kids are all sort of smiling and saying sorry.  A good time was had by all.

I came back for dinner and Nora was leaving, so I got this other woman to cook me dinner and I’m pretty sure she’s trying to kill me.  For some reason when she cooks dinner it takes twice as long and twice now I’ve received undercooked chicken from her.  At least, as far as I know there shouldn’t be blood running out of your chicken, right?  So I did my best to eat around those parts (no sense getting upset, I already did it).

I’m getting sick of the same food every day.  It’s usually chicken, sometimes fish, and a side that can be rice, nshima, or chips (fries).  What I wouldn’t give for just a sandwich!  Just PB+J or a hamburger.  Mmmm, hamburger.  States, I never would have thought I’d miss your terrible, unhealthy, and generally destructive fast food, but here I am.

The international music channel is on.  One thing Anime and European pop music have in common?  Androgynous characters.

posted 3 years ago

8pm Thursday, October 15 – 9th day – The Fish and the Water

I think I know why it can still be hard for me to be here. Because I’m always the outsider. I’m musungu, which is what they call white people here. It’s not that there aren’t white people. I’d guess that maybe .5% of the people I see are white, maybe? Its just that when you’re walking kids to school, and little kids laugh and call out to you, and then shriek and shy away when you turn… well, it weighs on you. But whatever. It’s part of the fish out of water.

This morning I had to go into the center of town to get money and Dorcas took me and we stopped in at the grocery store. Lo and behold it felt just like home! I mean, it was set up exactly like you’d expect. There were some differences, like all the prices are in Kwacha, the local currency. It’s about 4500 Kwacha to a dollar, so all the prices are in the tens of thousands.

Driving back to the orphanage, we passed an enormous market, the central market of Kitwe, and there were endless stalls and stalls of products you could buy. A giant farmer’s market where everyone can sell their goods. I’m hoping to go back into town sometime next week to walk through it and take pictures.

So the kids have two computer lessons a week, where Sam shows up and teaches them computer basics. Well last night he was showing them Word and gave them the assignment that everyone type something in Word for the next class. Sam doesn’t really strike me as doing a great job with kids, so I told them that if anyone needed help they could ask me and I’d help them.

Today, a group of the kids asked me for help! I showed them how to open Word again and had them all type some stuff. It was awesome just to see them grasping it and imparting some sort of knowledge on them, whatever bit I could. Funny side note: they call a period a “full stop.” Those British influences, I swear.

After that I taught the adults more about using the camera software for editing together movies. The hardest part is waiting for the computers to catch up, but I think they’re getting it, overall. Masautso is a born teacher, so he likes to put in his explanations for me, which helps me a lot because sometimes I’m not sure if they’re understanding me or just nodding along. It just feels like an amazing step toward something, giving them whatever I can.

I have just under a week and a half left here, and I’m getting the feeling it will be as hard to leave as it was to stay. Kids have a way of wrapping themselves around your heart, and these kids are no different. I’ve got to make the most of it while I can, right?

posted 3 years ago

Wednesday October 14th – 8th day - Priorities

7am

I was too tired to write last night.  Yesterday was a strange day.  A hard day.  I felt like I had slid back to my low point of first arriving here, feeling incredibly lonely and sad.  And I couldn’t shake it.  My theory is that it was acceptance settling in.  I got comfortable here, and now I just have to wait to go home.  Something like that.

So I spent the day feeling irritable, but then it came time to teach the Ubumi staff about the camera I brought them, and it was wonderful.  Sometimes I forget how much I love teaching, but I really love teaching.  Showing them the different buttons wasn’t all that interesting, but once I could put it into their hands and let them record some things, everyone was having fun and hopefully learning a good deal.  I got caught up in how much I enjoy these things.

The camera sort of sucks.  Or rather, the editing software that came with the camera.  It’s very basic and frustrating to use when you want to do more with it than you can.  I’ll do my best to show them the various things you can do.  At the very least, they can capture their own stories.

Today will be better.  I’ll be teaching some of the kids how to use the camera.  I really love teaching.  Now if only they could get some stable internet.

8pm

You know how when you try to ask kids questions they give mumbled replies and one word answers?  Well, that happens here too.  And sometimes I think it’s the language barrier, that I’m speaking too quickly and they’re not understanding me.  But sometimes it’s not, because today Dominic, one of the kids, sees me messing with my video camera and comes up to look at it and is asking me all about it.  He wants to know what all the buttons do, how to record, all of it.  And it feels so good to be able to help this kid understand what I’m doing and he’s all smiles about it.  So that’s awesome.

I learned more about why the orphanage, and probably a lot of other places as well, don’t have internet.  The prices are insane.  I’m talking of close to $1000 US Dollars before even a monthly payment is made.  And the monthly payments are around $100.  Since Zambia doesn’t have a telecom infrastructure that I know of, all the internet has to be wireless, which means using WiMAX technology, if that’s even reliable after you install it because I don’t know.

You want to talk about rich-poor divide, it’s right fucking there.  Imagine if you had to pay that much money just to use the internet.  And now imagine that instead of it being $1000, it was a month’s salary.  Because what I make in a month might be shit in the US, but it’s a damn big chunk of change here.  And everything is internet now.  Think about the programs on your computer and how many of them are for internet use.  And beyond that, most programs also use the internet for updates and help info.

Information is power.  And Ubumi is doing an amazing job of helping itself get stronger and build a better community in Zambia, but in areas like information technology their hands are almost completely tied.  Why would I bother learning to use a computer when I can’t use it for all the things it promises?  Information at my fingertips, communication with others.

I don’t know.  This probably doesn’t even make sense in America.  We’re wirelessly wired.  But here?  I mean, a thousand bucks?  It makes me want to throttle someone.  Right.  THAT, of all the things in Zambia, THAT’S the thing that pisses me off?  Maybe I’m the problem.

posted 3 years ago

12:30pm Tuesday October 13 – 7th day - Learning to be Taught

This morning I spent a lot of time with Frankie and Linda.  Frankie is one of the orphans, and he is quite small.  I thought, up until today, that he couldn’t be more than 5 or 6, but it turns out he’s 11.  That’s how small.  Frankie has HIV, and his size might be a side effect of the HIV drugs.  He has a scowl that could stop a lion, he’s rambunctious, and he pours out all his energy when he plays soccer.

I spoke with Linda about so many things.  She is an amazing and strong woman, and I can only hope that she views herself that way.  At 22 or 23 she became pregnant, and her fiancé ran away because he didn’t want to deal with a child.  So she lived with her parents, not doing anything, exactly like so many American twenty-somethings, myself included.  The woman who runs the Ubumi nutrition class found a job for her at the orphanage and she’s been here ever since.  Her child is here too, I think.

Her recent fiancé, the one who died, started complaining about his legs itching and stomach pains about a month before he died.  He started on liver medication but didn’t even get to finish it.  The disease took him.  He and Linda were together for 2 years.

Linda is most likely sad on the inside, pained the way anyone is pained by such loss, but I don’t see any of that.  She tells me there’s no sense in getting mad because there’s nothing she can do about it.  God has a plan and she just has to go along with it.  Her patience, humility, and candor break my heart.

She says she dreams of starting a business, because during the day while the kids are at school, she has very little to do.  She wants to start some sort of business or go back to school, because right now she’s supporting her parents, her dad who is out of work and her mom who has been almost comatose for over a year.  She pays for one of her siblings to go to school.

Linda will turn 29 on November 12^th.  I will turn 28 in January.  Linda finished grade 7 in school.  I’ve been through high school and college.  She’d probably be impressed by my schooling, but she is wiser than I will probably ever be.  We’re so close in age, in some of our experiences, but I hear her talk and feel like an infant.

It would be a mistake to base my impression of Africa, or Zambia, or Kitwe, or even Ubumi, on one person, but Linda leaves me in awe of the character it takes to be such a person.

Most of this can’t be recorded on film.  It’s shut away.  When I interviewed her on camera, she got more official, more self-conscious.  But when the camera is off she is friendly and open, and I’m not a good enough documentarian to know how to make people that comfortable on camera.

It is another reminder, as I try to understand this place, that I have no idea how to best help these people in the little ways that an individual can affect another individual.  They don’t know it, but I am a thief.  I am stealing so much from them because I can never give them anything equal to what they are giving me.

posted 3 years ago