HUSTLERS

I got schooled.

MARK


Do you remember those swing seats your parents used to jam you into that were like a hard plastic diaper? They're for sissys.

Levy and the Big City

As of late Kabwe has been host to a gang. Not of the threatening sort. They aren’t “packing” nor do they stick to wearing one primary color. The average age figures somewhere between 50 and 60. The membership: all female. The ride: flatbed truck.

Once they’ve found their target they unload, circle up and go into a chanting and dancing routine. In place of the trunk sized sound system are vocal chords pumping soprano instead of base. The energy level rivals Times Square New Years minus the smuggled bottle of JD. In no time a crowd of onlookers gawk at the spectacle. Although the majority stick to the sidelines the odd person decides to join in on the action.

This past Sunday Hil and I witnessed the madness. It was at a smaller market behind our house: A gang of ladies making their way down the market aisle feet stomping butts swaying, their ride idling out front. The decibels reached such a level that prior to entering the steel roofed market, a boxing match or cock fighting seemed the only plausible explanation. Like most gangs it’s not uncommon to be hit by a drive-by. Last Thursday I fell victim. Sprayed by a flurry of voices and before I even had a chance to take cover they were off. Such activities can only mean one thing. It is election time in Zambia.

Who needs boxes full of buttons that end up cluttering desk drawers and glove compartments? All it takes is 50 ladies to ambush public places and put on a show to get the word out. Oversized plastic signs just don’t work without lawns. Signage consists of trees adorned with posters urging me to vote. The majority of the campaigning involves Levy. Levy Mwanawasa is the current president and finishing off a four year term. To his credit Zambia has remained a peaceful and stable country under his command. He has managed to stay out of his neighbors business including the dysfunctional roommate upstairs, the Congo. I still can’t quite figure out who he looks like. The best I can do is a chubby Bill Cosby. I’m stuck on this because he always seems to be squinting in press photos and has a head full of grey hair. He also looks like the type of guy that would enjoy a good bowl of jello. A picture of his framed mug looks down on you in every store in town.

By far the best campaign initiative Levy’s pulled out is chitenge (a locally produced fabric) clothing which tells me where I should put the X on the election ballot. Lusaka is full of these walking campaigns. Packs of males wearing blue short sleeved dress shirts and females with skirts and head wraps with Levy’s face emblazed on them. I can see Presidential clothing taking off in Canada. Bandanas featuring the robot smile of the current #1 or bright orange button up Layton shirts. It might take a little while for the idea to catch, but when it does I have no doubt you’ll have 16 year old girls wearing skirts covered in Justin Trudeau and his dorky mustache.

I’ve been on a quest to figure out what some of the issues are. Locals address this question with a smile and a shake of the head as though I’m asking them to solve one of life’s great mysteries. With the tagline “Be Better Informed” I was hoping the Times of Zambia, the countries largest circulation daily would be my source. I was wrong. Other than the economy I had trouble finding any key issues. Personal attacks and accusations are plenty. I did find an in depth look at the upcoming Kabwe Warriors vs Zanaco Bankers football match. The same page had a Live Goats Wanted “in any quantity” ad which included a picture of a goat. Mr Kambani’s cell: 096-752695 in case you’re unloading.

Thankfully the Times of Zambia isn’t the only source of news. A Richmond, BC outfit called NewspaperDirect has given the people of Zambia options. In the time it takes to do the People Magazine crossword I had the Saturday August 12th edition of the Globe and Mail in my hands. The whole issue including the Book Section all in an oversized magazine format (a tall Rolling Stone) printed in an ink that doesn’t end up on your hands. I hear what some of you are saying; who cares what Rex Murphy’s in a funk about. What are people wearing in Hong Kong or how’s the ruble doing? Japan’s Okinawa Times, Brazil’s Gazeta Mercantil and Russia’s beloved Komsomolskaya Pravda are all a request away. In total they offer 370 Newspapers from 66 countries in 38 languages that can all be purchased from the NewpaperDirect store in Lusaka. For all that Newspaper Direct does right there is one glaring exception. Torontonians at large still can’t access the literary excellence known as the Toronto Sun. Begging the question where can someone get their shocking headlines, crappy writing and of course a daily dose of sunshine?

Reading through the Globe it was great to see the spotlight placed on the International AIDS Conference. A friend in Toronto described it as “the Olympics for people that want to change the world”. Encouraging is the amount of mud slung in Stevie’s direction for not attending. The Zambian rags don’t seem to be covering the event in much depth. The odd issue features an article with a picture of one of the Bills but for the most part it has been off the radar. It seems the topic is a regular in the public’s consciousness. At one of the community schools a current events wall had three sections: Sports, Entertainment and HIV/AIDS. This Friday I can even attend a Ms Abstinence contest in Kabwe. AIDS is woven into the fabric of everyday life.

Especially exciting has been the press received by the Granny’s conference that preceeded the International AIDS Conference. Although Hil spent countless days prepping the 3 Zambian grannies for their workshop the focus always seemed to sway towards travel details. A good 20 minutes was spent discussing the perks of the seat console on a trans-atlantic flight. Features like a drop down tray to handle the free meals, peanut drops and a private TV with the latest movie releases were all exciting news. Matilda was especially relieved to hear about that reinforced bag capable of taking care of any digestive problems. During these conversations we had no clue that we were sending over future media darlings.

All three of the “AIDS Grannies” from Kabwe were quoted in the major Canadian media outlets and the New York Times. The crowning picture was from the New York Times Online edition. Front in centre was Cherry Matimuna at an awareness march. Hiding beneath Cherry’s raised fist is Stephen Lewis. Next to Stephen and clearly in the background is Alicia Keys. In a celebrity obsessed society that cares what Brad Pitt looks like buying a Starbucks coffee or who Paris Hilton is sleeping with it’s nice to see the spotlight on someone so deserving. A multi platinum star eclipsed by a grandmother. With all do respect, “fallin'” staying at #1 on the charts for 16 straight weeks will always pale in comparison to working a full time job while raising four orphans.

In addition to stocking up on Canadian media I also made a couple of other stops in Lusaka. Heeding the warning on their website “Let’s learn from what happened with the Tsunami”, I headed over to register with the Canadian Embassy. Past experiences with Canadian embassies have been positive. In Kampala the guy wanted my whole life story and felt it appropriate to reinforce the benefits of condom use. Zambia seems to be an exception. The Canadian who helped me didn’t leave the glass booth hovering over the receptionist who was trying to work on her computer the whole time. She had an aversion to eye contact and using names. Although I wasn’t looking for a best friend it would have been nice to feel as though I wasn’t cashing a cheque at Money Mart. Her lack of personality was matched only by her uselessness in helping with work visa issues.

Getting that ink stamp in my passport will continue to be a priority for the next couple of weeks. I’m still aiming to get one through a community school or with Kara’s street children program. Concerns about getting a work visa have been raised since speaking with Brother Marcus, a 66 year old American who runs a street children program in town. Even with Brother in front of their names many of his colleagues have had difficulty getting work visas. His best advice was to inject a little more spirituality into my life and get a visa as a Catholic missionary. Outside of the visa discussion the Brother was extremely helpful. He comes from 20 years of teaching special-ed and literacy programs in Hartford. The passion with which he spoke about his program left me inspired. “The ability to read is at the root of democracy”. After leaving I felt if I could teach the sound a long “e” makes I could solve any countries ills. Along with the pep talk Brother Marcus shared his resources. Most impressive is the Bemba/English reading program he designed. Included in the program are 12 levels of phonetic charades playing cards. He also gave a digital copy of the only existing Bemba dictionary that he revised to include “street language”. Thousands of hours of work given without hesitation now rest on my desktop.

The week has also seen progress on the bike front. The Humber’s transformation is now complete thanks to Kabwe’s local furniture makers. A little cushioned pad was child’s play for guys who construct couches that could sit a football team. As soon as the seat was installed several test runs took place. Each test involved a complete circuit of the new market where the furniture shop is located. The last round was with Aaron, the little brother of the worker that installed the seat. After we completed the circuit I looked back and asked him what he thought of it. “Even me” long thoughtful pause “I like it”.

Thanks for all the kind words in the comments section and through e-mails. By request I’ve made it so you can comment anonymously so that a certain someone can post “stupid/witty comments”. I have also heard the call to post pictures. Time has been a factor the last couple of weeks so I’ve had to out source the duty to Alpha. After letting him know where the sun should be, how much fingers like to get into shots and that lens don’t like dirt he was given his assignment.

Me: Go out and take pictures of things that are beautiful.
Alpha: You mean like children playing.

After 20 minutes he returned with a whack of undistinguishable close up shots. A second lesson followed which included special emphasis on the importance of using the viewfinder. Round two included a couple shots that you could make out. I’ve posted one of them above.

Paper, Pencils and Concrete…

I spent the last 10 months of my life in Room 16 at 33 Phoebe Street. With me were 23 eleven and twelve year olds. When 24 people agree to show up at 8:45am and leave at 3:45pm five days a week stories happen. The year was full of characters and events. Moments like Julia barfing on my shoe the first day of school or Dylan throwing a tantrum in the library that sent all five trays of glitter flying. Everything was meant to be documented. The memory vault was to be a blog. The title was a tribute to Javin, a grade five student from a teaching practicum who got people and places jumbled in his head. Unfortunately my hands rarely met the keyboard. Sudanhussein.blogspot.com now sits in cyberspace as a record of intention.

I’m hoping this experience will be different.

I’m in Zambia in the heart of southern Africa. Lonely Planet refers to it as “real Africa”. Although I’m not quite sure what this means I like the notion. I’d hate to think I’m spending a year with an imitation Africa (Egypt or Morocco?).

The town I’m living in is called Kabwe and it is in the Central province of Zambia. Even though the majority of guidebooks neglect it the town has a story. Kabwe used to be a prosperous mining town. When the mines closed and the jobs ran out no one left explaining the mass of people living in a town with no industry. Kabwe’s main claim to fame is that it is where Homo Sapiens first made their debut. In 1921 an incomplete skeleton of an early human was discovered which is said to go back 100, 000 plus years. Local Zambians don’t seem too impressed with this plaque worthy fact. Had a similar discovery been made in America I’d be wearing a “Kabwe Cranium” t-shirt and stickers pronouncing “We Were Here First” or “The Birth Place of Humanity” would adorn bumpers. Wikipedia, the online interactive encyclopedia tells me that the skull is often referred to as “Broken Hill Man”. Broken Hill was Kabwe’s former namesake which the site explains was named after Broken Hill Australia. An odd name for a place that is abnormally flat. A word of caution though as the same site also shows a picture of a tiny shack claiming that it is the biggest store within 10km in town which is far from true.

Even after a week I find myself making room for Kabwe in my heart. Like Arua, where I was in Uganda, it has a charm that I’ve only found in small African towns. I’m not allowed to look at “Ponography” at the internet café and the mini bus that has “No Time To Waste” written across the windshield doesn’t leave for 40 minutes. A walk through the market fuels my admiration. Bundles of t-shirts with the goodwill tag still on, rows of dress shoes that were all the rage at the 89 formal side by side with women squatted in front of tiny pyramids of tomatoes and gigantic bags of grains, beans and rice that beg you to stick your hand in. And of course the odd vendor with something that looks as though it was pulled from the set of fear factor. Be it fried rats or chunky dried out caterpillars (hold out your pinky). The former was drenched in oil and salt and served with tomatoes and onions last night for dinner. Someone who wishes to remain nameless would only try one after cutting off the front and back ends. The dirt roads kick up dust in place of slabs of concrete. People and goods are moving. Everything seems alive. “Real Africa”.

The first week has seen attempts at learning the local dialect: Bemba. My pockets are slowly filling with tiny scraps of paper with the essentials scribbled out. It is a language full of tones which to the untrained ear sound like someone who has had a stroke trying to communicate. Bemba is interesting in that it decided R has no place in its alphabet. Explaining why I make a better Mac than Mark. Q, V, X and Z also failed to make the cut. I’m OK with this. I figure unless you play scrabble on a regular basis or enjoy reading the last 20 pages of the Websters English dictionary these letters are expendable.

Linguistically I’ve made the greatest strides in the market. It has proved to be a classroom that would rival the finest language school. 100’s of willing teachers lined in stalls waiting to give you their undivided attention. Dropping your teacher is as simple as deciding you want onions instead of shorts. It is these teachers who have provided me with no fail punch lines like “wadi kosa” (you’re strong) and “ukushana bwino” (good dancer). Someone’s ability to dance or their strength now figure into at least one conversation a day.

During my free Bemba lessons I’m usually confronted with the following questions. The first is always, “How is Canada?” as though we are discussing a mutual friend. A one word answer is suffice. The second question, and the one I find a little more concerning; “What are you doing here?”. This is the one that I have been attempting to answer since my arrival.

The short answer is I’m not really sure at this point. During the last week I’ve tried to meet and visit as many places as possible to see where I might best fit. Hil on the other hand is “working for the weekends”, and then working on the weekends. She is involved with Kara Counseling, a service organization with programs based around HIV/ Aids. In Kabwe alone they run a program for street children, a hospice, a preschool for orphaned and vulnerable children as well as counseling and testing services. Although she seems to be involved in all things Kara the focus of her time is on developing a skills training centre where HIV positive people can go to acquire basic skills such as carpentry and welding. Right now, the centre is a giant warehouse type building on the outskirts of town.

I have been fortunate enough to visit the various locations where these programs are run. Each experience has left with me a lesson on the harshness of poverty and how truly devastating Aids has been on Zambia. More and more I’m realizing how sheltered I was from such truths in Uganda with Right To Play. Spending the majority of my time on playing fields and in active schools surrounded by healthy people clouds perception.

I have spent quite a bit of time at the Kara Hospice which serves several purposes. The first is a preschool for 40 plus children who have become orphans or are considered vulnerable. In Africa for a child to be considered an orphan it means they have lost one of their parents and not both as we define it in North America. The lack of resources are evident in what the children end up playing with. Imagination reigns supreme out of necessity in these classrooms. Blocks of wood are tied to little backs with sweaters and become dolls. On my last visit every kid was talking into a plastic building block which had magically transformed into a cell phone. All conversations consisted of high pitched “howru?” the one English line all children know. My favourite child is 5 year old Christopher who can’t seem to get over all the hair on my face. In recent visits he’s been stuck on the word “armpit” and raises his arms daring a quick tickle. Christopher’s mother is a sex worker. In Makalulu where they live I’m told sex workers make as little as 2000 kwacha – less than a dollar. The reality of poverty.

In the midst of all of these children are a huddle of grandmothers called the “Busy Bees” who make small trinkets out of beads and sew items to sell at the market in Lusaka once a month. 3 of these grandmothers are in Toronto as I write this to present a workshop at the Grandmothers Gathering in advance of the International Aids Conference. Each one of their stories bare witness to the devastation of Aids. Matilda, one of the grandmothers is now responsible for 11 kids at her home, 7 which are orphans. Stories like Matilda seem quite common. A whole middle generation of moms and dads have been lost with the older generation left to take care of their children.

In a separate building lie the patients of the hospice. Four rooms with beds for patients fighting the disease. I was surprised to see the flat sheets of an unused bed which appeared empty only to realize the top half contained the curled body of a child. Although no one deserves this disease it seems especially unjust to see a child suffering. The bed belonged to 10 year old Alpha. All I could think of were the pictures Time Life would show in the mid 80’s of patients suffering from Aids. A body covered in sores from an opportunistic infection.

I’ve also spent time at Kara’s street children’s program. On my first visit I was put to the test. A full fledged football game was in process and I was expected to take part. The blundstones came off and the Khaki’s were rolled up and I went from spectator to participant way quicker than I would have liked. It seems the international language of football would have served far more useful than Bemba in this case. This particular day I would have traded morning, noon and evening salutations for a solid kick. After a good half an hour of blooper reel style embarrassment the game was over. As if I didn’t need a reminder of my lack of skill on the pitch I now have a blood filled blister on my foot letting me know how cushy my feet have it. I’ve been able to visit the program a couple of times since and am working with a group teaching them ultimate frisbee which is a great way to meet some of the kids and learn about the challenges they face.

One group I have looked into working with are local community schools. Although I’m still getting the full picture, education in Zambia seems to be divided into two camps: government and community schools. The government schools are fully funded by the government while the community ones are started and run by the community. Because of the lack of funding it isn’t unheard of for kids at community schools to be required to bring a bag of cement on the first day of school to help build a new extension or latrines. A recent trend has also seen a drain in teachers from the community schools to better paying jobs at government schools. Because of the loss of teachers one particular school, with the unfortunate acronym KOCS (Kabwe Open Community School) has four teachers to deal with 400 plus students. I have met with KOCS to discuss how I might be able to assist. Their biggest problem seems to be lack of involvement from the parents. They also have no structured physical education program even though it is in their timetable twice a week. Once school resumes we have arranged to start phys-ed workshops with available parents who can in-turn cover for teachers during the phys-ed time slots.

Finally, I cannot end this post without mentioning the bicycle taxi business. As many of you know this small business scheme which was the brainchild of Hil was in the works before leaving Toronto. One of the biggest challenges will be to get the local population to start viewing bicycles as an affordable means of transportation for all classes and not a second rate way to travel. Some unforeseen obstacles have also surfaced. The other day I was trying to convince a group of the benefits of such a service. Annette didn’t seem convinced. “What would my husband think if you were taking me, people would say ‘what are they talking about?”.

The most important news regarding the business is that a test model has been purchased. After several visits to the stores in town I settled on The Humber. Its selling features were numerous. The 50’s style bike is a model of simplicity with no gears and a tiny steel wire break system no thicker than pipe cleaners. It’s crowning feature a double spring plastic seat with “Superior Quality TESTED Guaranteed” stamped into the side. The use of capitals convinced me that future seats were being tested that very moment in India by some poor worker. The final kicker was the sticker across the top bar which read “All Steel Bicycle”. All I could think of was Superman, the “Man of Steel”, how could I turn down an all steel bicycle? I was sold.

Upon arriving in Zambia from India the bicycles are assembled en masse by I’m told a crew of 20 in a town called Chipata. Words like “tighten” and “thorough” are clearly not part of the training manual for these assemblers. The first stop for all new bikes is the market where you have to pay 10 000 Kwacha (3 bucks) to get it “road ready”. Here three workers attack your bike in a manner reminiscent of the pit stops in Daytona. Within minutes two wheels and a frame served as the only indicator that I had in fact bought a bike. They then proceeded to put the Humber back together accounting for each ball bearing and tightening every last spoke. At one point during the reassembling the wrenches and hand tools were dropped for a modified sledge hammer and a piece of 2 by 4. Seeing my concern Ernest the leader of the crew looked in my direction and gave me an it’s all going to be OK nod. The three of them then proceeded to hammer out a dent in the frame. The whole process took 45 minutes.

The Humber was given its first big test this past weekend. A 16 km trip to a farm out in the country. The trip involved going straight through a small village on the outskirts of town. Had I not been perched like Mary Poppins on her bike it would have felt like the final leg of the Tour de France. Children ran out to the road to see me ride and high fives and waves were in full affect. It was during this inaugural trip that some of The Humber’s finer features became apparent. Turns out bumpy inconsistent roads are the Humbers kryptonite. The tiny black handle bars slowly revealed that they are from the sandpaper family. The “TESTED” black seat’s (made of plastic no thicker than a yogurt container) one spring crumbled to one side providing a painful pinch on my rear. Finally, the most important feature, the brakes decided to take a day off. Since the trip I’ve been able to check out some of the other bikes on the road. No one has the original seat, brakes are a luxury for a small few and if you like having a sensation in your palm you need to buy softer handlebars. So for now, it’s perfect.

The Humber is currently in the process of receiving a face lift. Yesterday I purchased a reinforced chasi that is attached above the rear wheel that allows me to take passengers. A welder has also added two foot pegs. Even with the revamps Hil the test pilot has fielded some complaints. Mainly the chuckles she is faced with at work due to the grill marks on her dress pants. A cushioned pad is in the works.

So “How is Canada?” I’m hoping to hear from some of you be it e-mail, phone or post.

My phone number from Canada is #011 260 99692335

And any mail can go to Hil’s office:
Hilary Hall
c/o Ranchod Hospice
Kara Counselling Training & Trust Kabwe Branch
P.O. Box 81257
Kabwe, Zambia
AFRICA

**Hil has confirmed that all packages will not be subject to inspection. I haven’t been able to get the same guarantee from the Zambian postal service though.

“Riding in style with a smile on…”