Is it?!!

"What is this number here?"
"Well, it is the total monthly data usage."
"Oh, so it should be a sum of each of the connection usages in this column?"
"Yes."
"Well the numbers don't add up."
"Is it!?" (A current Zambianism meaning, huh, well I'll be.)
"Um, it isn't. (not knowing exactly how to respond, taking the statement literally). No, I mean, it is. Wait, it isn't - ah, this column doesn't add up to this number here."
"Is it... How many times did you add up the numbers?"
"I didn't add them by hand. I used some software to import the numbers and do the addition for me."
"Oh. I wasn't prepared to talk about this during this meeting. Maybe we can reschedule and I can make sure to have someone that can answer these questions present."

In Zambia, confrontation in social situations is avoided at all cost. Constructive criticism is often taken to be insulting or disrespectful. Hierarchy is based on age, not necessarily merit (or even better, political or family ties). As a result, I tried to be on my best behavior for the meeting, especially given the circumstances. Patience, kemosabe.

"You have a few hundred people working in this building, surely one of them can take a few minutes to help us."
"Um, I don't know, I'm afraid we will have to reschedule."
"Can you please see if there is someone that can help us?"
"Um, please wait here. Do you mind if I take this paper with your notes?"
"Sure - if that helps."

I'm looking at the cell bill for our project for the last month - covering 24 Community Health Worker phones and 9 data modems in Clinics and District Offices. Its well over our projected, let alone budgeted costs - enough that its raising more than eyebrows. Upon investigation of the bill - one discrepancy leads to another. This column of data used per 'session' doesn't add up to the total 'data volume' charge for the month. November charges appear again on the December bill - but not for the same amount. The daily charge for a single sim card for November 10th on the November bill shows a different number of connections and data pushed through each connection than November 10th on the December bill. Oh, and they aren't charging us the way they had advertised when we signed up for the contract. Apparently charges by data volume come with a hidden minimum charge each connection. In rural locations where the cell network can be spotty, especially when trying to send moderate amounts of data, connections are dropped all the time. How often does your network drop a call? And are you located in rural Africa? A flurry of useless emails with the cell provider and more wasted time led to the need for a face to face meeting.

(doo doo do do, doo doo do (think Jeopardy)... 40 minutes later... our old friend and a new guy sit down with us. Introductions proceed apace (usually the first 5 or so minutes of each conversation).
"Oh.. well.. it appears that our software isn't doing something right. We will need to look into it. We are terribly embarassed, especially that the customer pointed this out to us, rather than our internal quality control. We will send you our data so you can see exactly where our reports are coming from. We will also send you a revised bill tomorrow."

The data never comes.
That promised email is never sent.
Upon inquiry 4 days later, we recieve a cryptic email that basically says:
We will charge you whatever we think we can get away with. Most customers don't complain. Our system is good enough to be able to double charge you for usage in the previous month because it wasn't 'tallied' correctly the first time. As to the fuzzy math, well, we use it to our advantage.

Is it?! It is.

from notebloc.wordpress.com

Back in the, er, swing?

In the three weeks the house was empty over the holidays, the internet company suspended our service. We ran out of electricity. All the food in the freezer thawed, and now it smells like someone died in it. The lights don't work. We ran out of water. Hot water - alas, that's not working either. Crainky, I wasn't gone that long! Welcome back to Zambia!

The first week in the office proves busy. On a ride to a rural clinic to fix a computer, I debate the future of Africa with a coworker. He explains that it all comes down to management, or rather, mismanagement, fostering an environment for corruption to blossom. He is anxious about the secession of Southern Sudan, and what it could mean for the rest of Africa - where there are lots of other very divided countries, granted, none in as grave a situation. On the way back from the clinic, I explain to him how engines work and airplanes fly - complete with scribbles in a notebook. He says he is fascinated, but still terrified of flying.

This week I have had to dawn rubber 'gum/duck' boots and a rain jacket to brave the downpoors. I will be sitting on my computer, headphones on, when all of a sudden it sounds like the roof is going to collapse. A glance out the window reveals that, indeed, the sky is falling. And as it turns out, the sky is awfully wet. There are 6 ft deep culverts alongside the main roads, often instead of sidewalks or a shoulder. They are easily clogged with mud or trash. The water pooring out of the sky quickly fills these drainages, especially when it rains for hours, off and on, for months at a time. One street by my house has a perpetual lake across the middle of it. I instruct any taxi to take the long way to avoid the giant potholes that are forming. The other intersecting road is on an incline. The ground is so saturated at this point in the year, that even a small drizzle starts a small waterfall that cascades its way from the top of the street to the bottom - washing along anything in its way. Gum boots, umbrella, rain coat - they help, but things still seem damp. Without a washing machine or clothes dryer, newly washed clothes hang all over our hallways.

I recently veered off the road on my bike into one of the culverts - guessing wrongly which way
a pedestrian would move when when I rang my bell. Yes, I have a sweet bell on my bike to alert everyone that a Mzungu on a bike - complete with helmet (one of the very few in all of town - you are welcome mom!) is coming along - a sight for all to see. This scene got even better as I flew into the mud and over the handlebars. I guessed which way she would have moved as if I were in the States. This isn't the states, and there are giant mud and trash filled traps that spring up on you when you least expect it!

Missing the Develop(ed)(ing) World

Disclaimer: One of my hopes for the new year is to blog more often AND to keep entries short enough to read in less than 5 minutes. This one may break that second intention already...

Two-thirds of one butt cheek rest comfortably on the bench of a minibus carrying 17 down from a church atop a hill it took me 2 hours to hike. The ride cost the equivalent of $0.13, takes 5 minutes, and carries 5 less passengers than the same sized minibus would in Lusaka.

I share my dinner table with an elder Ethiopian man because every other table is full. He has just returned to Ethiopia after living in Amercia for 20 years. He raised his family there - and his three kids will stay. After regaling me with stories of his time in the States, he shares what will miss most: his wife (to join him in Ethiopia in 8 months time, his kids, and Domino's pizza.

Yep, I'm back in Africa.

Sipping on a glass of red wine, sated from a scrumptious dish of spicy lamb stew and injera, enjoying the ambiance of a restaurant in Addis Ababa, serenated by Ethiopian infused Jazz beats, I try to wade through a jet-lagged fog to contemplate the events of the last few weeks. A few days ago I departed Colorado, and in a few days more I will return to Lusaka. Which is home? Family and familiarity dominate one, work and intrigue the other.

I had a number of small anxieties and high hopes returning home from eight months in Africa. One by one, each anxiety proved unfounded and hope overblown. I've gathered in a larger sense, that the things I think I miss in Africa, and the things the expat community yearns for and complains about - don't amount to much. We do not live a deprived life in Lusaka, Zambia - but there are a number of things in the developed world that do make living nice.

I drove my old car from place to place - and initially had to remind myself which side of the street to drive on. It was only necessary initially, though, as years of past experience quickly superceded recent habits as I turned on the radio and stopped thinking about which side of the road is the 'right' side. The roads are wide and smooth. I can comfortably drive faster than I would dare on Zambian highways, not having to fear surprise goat crossings, car-swallowing potholes, or semi trucks broken down in the middle of a two-lane highway.

I sought burritos, sushi, beer, and hamburgers galore. My expectations of that first burger were like those in a Carl's Jr commercial; with each bite of a monstrous burger, juicy deliciousness drips down my chin - how could I not be satisfied? Or what about that heavenly nectar, beer? It brings to mind snowy mountain peaks and fur bikini clad women (sorry, I AM from Colorado and have seen A LOT of Coors commercials). I must say, Zambian local beer never brought to mind snow or bikini clad women. And yet, every encounter with burritos, sushi, and beer let me down - as I had built up monumental expectations of what a each should be. I don't think I will be craving sushi, burritos, or beer for some time to come.

Instead, it was the small things that struck me. Seeing my breath in the cool morning air. Fixed prices, neglecting the need for bargaining. Sidewalks. Blending into a crowd. I nearly broke into tears in the cheese aisle of Costco. Reliable hot showers with good water pressure are lovely. Internet that supports video and pictures with speed is mind boggling. The chance to see family and friends, spend holidays among mountains and snow, reminded me of a different life. Straddling what seems like two worlds, I have to think hard in which one I really belong - because in one, I inevitably miss the other.