Showground Compound -- Monze Town

As December 1^st approaches, World AIDS day, we have been focusing many of our sessions and trainings on the HIV/AIDS concerns here in Monze, Zambia. Just yesterday we ran a powerful session on such topics for about 120 children in the Showground compound just outside Monze town. Showground is a rural area where livelihoods are made from cattle and tobacco farming, as evidenced by the hundreds of cow horns scattered throughout the paths and fields! The Showground compound used to hold weekly displays of cattle and locally­‑grown produce for farmers to buy or trade. Now, it is the home to the Tobacco College of Zambia and not much else. The youth of this compound do physically challenging labor and often have to miss school to assist with farming activities. One or two days a week, we provide fun, soccer drills that incorporate useful health or social information. We have been able to educate the children and coaches of this compound on many issues with our focus this week on HIV/AIDS. The reality of yesterday’s session was difficult for us as you will see but rewarding as well. As we have found out many times, children of too young an age are sexually active. Learning that 10 and 11 year olds were sexually experimenting was disheartening. However, giving them an environment to learn and ask questions provided me with hope for the years to come. Through our games we received many good questions. Working through their options, we allow them to reason and choose a path rather than merely following local traditions. Additionally, we received commitments from many of the children that they would seek testing by the time we next arrived. When we left Showground, we felt like a difference was made. And in holding up our side of the bargain, we made it to the clinic ourselves. “I know, do you?” now adorns our wrists on a bright yellow bracelet. Hopefully seeing this bracelet will continue to motivate the local children to stay informed and make choices.

Please wear red (like our local coaches seen here) on December 1^st to show support for World AIDS day. It is a difficult disease we as a world must defeat.

Christiano

PS - Happy Thanksgiving all!

The Magic (Mujika) Kingdom?

This past week we were lucky enough to be invited to the beautiful, albeit remote, village of Mujika. This village consists of about 10,000 Zambians scattered throughout the bush and rolling hills some 20 miles or so from Monze (my home base). As part of our commitment to the Zambia Project and BSI (our local partner), we committed to extended visits to rural sites to teach coaches and teachers, as well as the local children, as travel to our regular sessions was too distant. Upon arriving at the Malomo School and meeting the family with which we would stay, Sam and I knew we were in good hands. Over the next five days we conducted training sessions for the peer coaches and leaders of the community on how to use sport to teach the children. In the afternoons to the cusp of darkness, we taught the local children numbering close to 200. With great success we shared our techniques and lessons. The teachers were most pleased with the numerous fun games we shared on HIV/AIDS as they find it a difficult topic to discuss and with these games, they felt they could now approach that difficult but prevalent topic. Additionally, the female teachers really enjoyed our “Nguzu Musimbi” session – Girl Power to those not yet fluent in Tonga. At night we slept soundly having worked hard throughout the day.

Well, that last part is not totally accurate. You see, we were in a very, very remote locale. And, as rainy season was commencing, farming and farm animals ruled the down time. My dear friends the roosters, cows, shepherd dogs, chickens, goats and sheep slept at our door step, when they chose to sleep – which I think was never. But, despite the noise, I would have been able to cope. The real trauma came when I had to use the bathroom hole, some 100 yards away from our sleeping area, one night. In the darkest of hours, with the closest electricity some 20 miles away, I donned my headlamp and trekked to the hole. During my walk, our host’s words at dinner rang in my ears – “Beware of the snakes. Don’t jump over them, step on them.” Who was he kidding? Especially after describing the snakes as 5 feet long and as thick as his leg! Granted he was skinny, but still! With that thought, I kept plodding. Safe from harm, I arrived at the hole, and entered the small, enclosed brick structure. Whether it was the light, or my malaria pills or something else, when I entered the structure, I almost died from fear. There hanging on the walls, crawling on the ground, and dangling from the ceiling, were 10-20 of the largest bugs – I assume spiders – that reminded me immediately of tarantulas. My flashlight only made it worse as the shadows cast were gigantic. With my racing heart jumping out of my chest (yes I understand how cowardly I sound), I exited the structure and just completed my activities in the tall grass behind the hut. Whether a snake bit me was no longer a concern! Luckily, none did.

When I finally made it back to my mosquito tent, I tried desperately to fall back asleep, but with the images in my head, I didn’t dare close both my eyes. Luckily, dawn and the calling of the roosters came soon enough and I could head to our host’s house for some nshima and sour milk – the Breakfast of Champions!

On our last night in Mujika, the village prepared for the soccer tournament we would be holding the next day. With all the children coming, some ladies from the village generously offered to make some Chibwaantu, a corn meal based energy drink. I was later informed it translates to Sweet Beer but I can tell you there was no alcohol involved! Since we brought on the idea of capping our stay with a soccer tournament, I decided it would be good form to assist these lovely ladies with the task at hand. For two hours, in the dark, we sifted corn, and then rinsed it, and then brew it, and then mixed it. The strength of the ladies was fierce, or I am getting weaker by the day. Please reserve comments until I return home as I can’t adequately retort. When done, we let it sit in a drum overnight and then shocked the kids with it the next day. I say shocked because when the children found out I helped make it, there was stunned silence and then applause. I was shocked most of all as it tasted relatively good. It was like a watered down creamed corn soup with a smoky aftertaste. I don’t think Gatorade has any worries but the Mujika children thought it was magical!

Twaunka,
Christiano

PS – Happy Birthday Matt Aviza and Jeff Oberg!

One Million Kwacha!

Having completed our work in Tanzania, it was time to say good bye to my friends and then travel onwards to Zambia. As Kigoma found itself on the shores of Lake Tanganyika, I desired to travel south on the famed MV Liemba – a large ship that has been traversing the Lake for many, many years. I headed to the port to check on its departure times as I know it is scheduled to travel only once a week. I learned, after speaking with the harbor master – apparently the only authoritative voice on the subject – that the ship would be leaving in three weeks to Mpulungu, Zambia. T.I.A.! I was saddened by that news because I had looked forward to this part of my journey since June. However, since I learned that the Liemba was being used to transport refugees back to Burundi, and having just spent some time at one such refugee camp, my disappointment disappeared immediately. Seeing the realities of a refugee camp first hand is quite humbling. The coaches I met in the camp had been displaced from their homes due to brutal fighting and killing and had not seen their families in 10 years. The coaches, then sons and young brothers, were attacked at night and fled into the safety of the bush in the darkness. For years, these men have been searching for their families, never giving up hope of reuniting with lost loved ones. Despite the endurance of these atrocities, the coaches have been able to forge a new life at the refugee camp, and use sport as a way to teach the children in the camps and bring some level of normalcy back to the community. Having only been given a few hours at the camp, we shared as much as we could in that time and discussed sending more CaC coaches back to the repatriation camp in Burundi next year. Although it was only a few hours, I will remember the strength and courage of those coaches for the rest of my life.

Back to my travels...since the boat was not an option, and no buses or flights went from Kigoma to Lusaka, I needed to travel all the way to Dar es Salaam to find a connection. When I arrived in Dar, I learned of a special railway called TAZARA (Tanzania-Zambia Railways) that connected Dar to Kapiri Mposhi (a city 3 hours north of Lusaka, Zambia). With a renewed sense of travelling adventure, I bought my train ticket for the next day (Tuesday) at 3:00 (the only time per week that it ran) and headed into the city for dinner and rest. When I woke the next morning, I learned from my hotel that visitors could no longer get visas on the train at the border station so I rushed to the embassy that was scheduled to open in 10 minutes (at 9:00). While waiting I saw a sign that said “Visas – MWF.” I hoped it meant something different than I thought, but soon learned otherwise. The nice woman at the desk informed me that the officer who does visas is here on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Mimicking the eyes of my niece Stella when she wants something from her parents, I plead with the woman explaining my predicament. She said we could try but that I would need 2 passport photos. So my day of running around began. Successfully finding a photo shop to take my picture, I returned from the first of five “errands” which I needed to complete before receiving a visa. At 2:30, I finally received a stamped passport and began the race to the train station, clear across town. A 1 mile run to my hotel was done in 7 minutes, 30 seconds as the traffic was too congested to wait for a taxi. Picking up my luggage from my hotel, I then raced to the station and arrived on the track at 2:55 finding my cabin with ease and dropping my bags on the bench at 2:58! I believe I startled the two French women and Zambian gentleman with whom I would share my cabin when I entered dripping with sweat. They let me sit by the window to cool down as we exchanged pleasantries. For the next six hours, we chatted and learned lots about each other. We ate dinner and even chose our bunks. Things were going smoothly since my arrival at the train, save for one minor detail, we never left the station!

For 6 hours we sat on the tracks waiting for fuel to arrive. One would have thought that when a train leaves only once a week, and yes it is the only train that runs from this station and on this track, you would be a little more prepared for the departure. But, T.I.A.! Sharply at 9:00 we pulled from the station and began a journey that would cross 2 national parks in Tanzania and many remote parts of Zambia. Despite the delay, I was looking forward to the majestic sights I envisioned I would see over the next day. With a night of semi-peaceful rest on my bench sized bed, I took a seat by the window and enjoyed the rolling hills, deep valleys, wildlife and beautiful landscape that passed before me.

My travelling companions were not going as far as I was going, and soon I found myself alone in the cabin. With my new freedom, I inched closer to the window and saw I could see more of the landscape, something I wish I had not noticed. Every few miles I saw an overturned, burned out train car that had rolled off the tracks on some earlier trip. Some rested on their heads in the pits of valleys, and others on top of crushed trees. My relaxing journey became a little more harrowing. Despite the new found angst, I read my Oscar Wao book and snacked on PB&J. I also learned that I was misinformed on the length of the trip – 24 hours was actually 48 hours. Resigned to another day on the train, I put my feet up and enjoyed the scenery – from a distance. With each passing hour, I wondered when we would get to the border between Tanzania and Zambia. The train workers kept saying an hour but after 6 hours passed, I just decided to wait. At 1:00 a.m., I finally put my head on the pillow by the door so I could hear when the immigration officer came by. At 3:00 a.m. someone finally knocked! The officer came in, I showed my passport with my visa and waited for the stamp to be stamped. However, this officer said I was missing a stamp from TZ and that I would need to see her boss. I threw on some shoes, locked my cabin and headed off to a small office on the train – all the while the train is carrying onward into Zambia. In the office, I met with two armed officials and was told that I had illegally entered the country. Apparently, when the train left TZ, the immigration officers did not travel down to my cabin to give me an exit stamp! These Zambian officials were saying I hopped the train and illegally entered the country and I would need to “pay a fine.” I imagined that this could be another dream caused by my Malaria drugs, but I felt too tired for it to be anything but real. The officers gave me an ultimatum – pay the fine or be dropped off at the next station and travel back to Tanzania. Hoping “the fine” would not be too much, I asked how much it would cost me to stay on the train. They said “One Million Kwacha!” I inadvertently laughed in their face and then again explained my story, showing them my ticket from Dar es Salaam. I also explained that I was to be a volunteer in Zambia and had nowhere near a million kwacha. Of course, I had no idea how much a million kwacha was but it sounded astronomical. It was a standoff so I said I wanted to call in the TAZARA employee I had been talking to the whole trip. They politely declined. It was at that moment that I knew they wouldn’t kick me off so I mentally said I would wait it out (as the train was moving anyway). Fifteen minutes later, they realized I was not “paying the fine” and was not voluntarily getting off the train. I think out of boredom, and possibly some belief in my volunteer status, they gave me a 7-day entry stamp and sent me on my way! With my passport in hand, I headed back to my bench-bed and caught some sleep before the sun filled my cabin at 6:00 a.m. For the next 12 hours I enjoyed the sights of the countryside of Zambia and finally made it to Kapirir Mposhi at sunset, completing my 51 hour adventure into Zambia!