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 It was only necessary initially, though, as years of past experience quickly superceded recent habits as I turned on the radio and stopped thinking about which side of the road is the 'right' side.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.

The snow is falling back home. Ski resorts are open and there is the ever-present talk that this ski season is going to be the season of all seasons. Sitting in Africa, sweat dripping from my face as I sit and type on a computer, snow sounds good - any amount. Enough to ski would be nice - but any to cool the place down a bit would be welcome. I think I miss snow so much that I have started to see things.

I swear cars here have ski racks. I wouldn't really blame anyone here with a rack on their car. In my personal opinion, the ski rack is as necessary to any car as the rear-view mirror or windshield wiper. Probably more so. You have three mirrors standard to see the cars around you - definitely overkill. Two windshield wipers are nice - but who hasn't had them both become absolutely useless in the snow - having to reach out the window and give them a good snap to shake off the ice and rime while speeding down the highway. Useless. Ski racks, however, are indisputably useful. How else are you going to pack the car fully of buddies and post-ski beverages and carry all the necessary gear to shred the gnar during the day? You aren't. Its that simple. Don't get me wrong here, I'm not hating on African cars with ski racks - to the contrary. I know my car in Colorado looked naked without a ski rack. Driving inside of a naked car can make one feel very self-conscious and I don't recommend it.

There aren't any mountains around with enough snow to ski for thousands of miles. Simply mentioning the word snow here makes most people cringe. On certain days I would guess about 2-5% of 4x4s I see on the road have ski racks. Next time you are stuck in traffic, count 50 cars, imagine yourself in Africa, infinitely far from snow, and picture at least one of those cars with a ski rack. Are you losing it? I want to shake the hand of the African drivers with ski rack laden vehicles. I want to congratulate them. I would then ask if they knew what the rack on top of their car was for. I would guess only 2-5% would get the answer right.

I made the mistake of sharing my ski rack theory with visitors. With their eyes scanning the road, we managed to see nothing but the normal cars one would expect in Africa - all rack-less. Embarrassed and disgraced, I was sure that I've been seeing things. Maybe my yearning for snow is causing me to hallucinate. I would have agreed, and caved to the snickers of my fellow skiers looking unsuccessfully for ski rack laden cars on the streets of Dar Es Salaam, if it weren't for a sign from the ski gods themselves.

Walking down the dusty, sweaty streets of Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania, I stumbled across the answer. Thinking I was day dreaming of the white stuff and mountains again, I caught the word 'skiing' out of the corner of my eye. Sitting on a small table displaying shoe-shine accessories, with no cover, but in otherwise fantastic condition, lay a 1960 edition of the Encyclopedia of Skiing. If I thought my visions of ski racks was slightly eccentric, now I was sure that I am not fit for a life without snow. With my non-existent Swahili and the the shoe shiner's none-existent English, I left the conversation with more questions than I started. For 5000 Tanzanian shillings, however, or the equivalent of $US3.30, we conducted a transaction that made both of our days - no, probably our entire month. I finally have proof that I'm not losing it. Now I just have to hunt down a picture of one of those forsaken African cars with a ski rack. Then I can be positive that I'm not delusional.

In the meantime - I will continue to pray for snow, here, in the heart of Africa.

You know you are in Africa when...

mmmm, lunch

- You strap a dead goat carcass to the roof of a car. This isn't because you have accidentally hit a farmer's goat or are clearing the road of road kill. It’s a work mates gift for his wife back home.

- Training for clinicians and nurses in a rural clinic is ended early due to elephants. Everyone walking or biking home needs to be given plenty of time to avoid the section of road that elephants usually cross on their daily trek to the river in the dry season.

- You realize you have multiple options when being pulled over by a police officer (all of which involve arguing extensively):
1) You pay full price for a ticket and get a receipt, which depending on the offense, can easily be $50 on the spot. I believe there is a way to contest a ticket in court, but would require navigating an INTENSE bureaucracy.
2) Talk your way into a warning.
3) Negotiate with the policeman to pay a 'fine' that is a fraction of the ticket. No receipt. The money goes directly into the policeman's pocket. This amount can be 10-25% of the value of the fine, and the policeman is perfectly happy to go home with more money to feed his family or buy himself a beer.

There is a 4th option I haven't tried: not stopping. The police officer's here either have checkpoints where you slow down to talk to them, or are waiting at the top of a hill and wave you over to the shoulder. Note that police officers here very rarely have cars or guns (In fact, if you call after a robbery, usually the first question is whether they were/armed with a gun or not, and the second, only if the answer to the first is in the negative, is to ask for gas money or a ride to pick up the officer and take them to the scene of the crime). What if you just didn’t stop when the officer flagged you down? They are on foot... You have a car...

- The center and shoulder lines on a highway are painted by hand. Using string, rocks and small paint brushes (one size up from Bob Ross). And the highway is still open. Can you imagine painting all the road markings from Boston to Washington D.C. on I-95 by hand?

- You realize that all the fancy T-shirts sporting American slogans have ZERO bearing on the personality of the wearer. I'm talking about Madonna T-shirts on large black men. The next time you design a T-shirt with a clever / risque saying, please picture a 12 year old African boy wearing the shirt - because that's where it will eventually end up.

- You aren't sure what the most dangerous part of driving in Africa is because there are so many options:
1) Goats (or larger animals) bolting across the road at random times
2) Attempting to overtake a slow-moving truck on a two-lane highway and having to stop due to a cow in the other lane.
3) Potholes that will debilitate your car. Seriously, some of the potholes on the main highways span both lanes of the road, are at least 5 ft in width and 2 ft in depth.
4) Trucks that break down all the time and at the worst sections of road - like going uphill around a corner. There is no shoulder, so the truck is stopped in your lane, requiring you to swerve into the lane of oncoming traffic. You know in advance by a few branches cut and placed carefully in the middle of the road. The truck driver is sleeping underneath his vehicle or sitting by a fire on the shoulder.

Oh could this list go on!

Lions, Tigers and Bears, Oh My: um, African version

How much has Western culture invaded the far reaches of the globe? Will their soon be Starbucks and McDonald's on every street corner? The first thing that comes to mind in terms of Westernization is this most obvious of sights - the Golden Arches, CocaCola, a Nike Swoosh. But what about those places still considered remote - what about the wild, the bush, the African game reserves?

If you have never been on Safari, its because 1) you haven't been to Africa or 2) you can't afford it. Most of the safaris in Africa are highly regulated and pricey. They cater to jet-setting travelers with little heed to the amount of money they are spending or how much is actually going to the local population - just as long as they are guaranteed to see lions, leopards and rhinos in their 3 day African experience and go home happy. Most guided safari trips range from hundreds to thousands of dollars each day.

And yet, most of the local population has never seen an elephant or a lion. For most of them, it's not on the list of things to do. If they live in a city, its after years, if not generations of struggle against the bush and its native inhabitants. Going camping for the thrill to see a lion is not a popular local activity. The push to protect African wildlife seems almost hypocritical, after most first world nations have completely wiped out any large animal populations of their own. Don't get me wrong, I am all for protection of the environment, flora and fauna and majestic locations, including the amazing diversity of life and terrain that Africa offers, but I can't help but think of this of just one more hypocrisy the developed world holds over the developing.

Last weekend we helped count game in a National Park in Zimbabwe. On foot. Amidst lions and leopards and hippos, oh my. No ranger. No guide. No gun. Two feet, three fellow expat companions, a pair of binoculars and a GPS. There aren't many places left on the globe that allow for this amount of freedom in the wild. We joined in 3 walks of about 3-5km each, counting as many of anything that moved that we could. One group of 40, we combed a large swath of land near the Zambezi river densely packed with wildlife. Even in our camp, hippos would emerge from the river and waddle by the tents. A giant elephant stopped to make sure we knew he was boss by marking his territory 15 ft from our tents, and the proceeded to park himself between us and the bathroom for most of the night. Water buffalo hung out in the trees just beyond the camp throughout the day. Baboons knocked our tents over while we were out - looking for food or just to create a bit of mischief. Hyenas and jackals regularly prowled the camp at dusk. A few of the groups got a ranger with a gun when going through the known danger areas, but many groups saw lions and leopards during their walks - without a guide. And often, it isn't the lions and leopards that are the most dangerous animals, but the herds of buffalo and mother elephants that pose the greatest threat. We had a ranger for our first walk that took us through the 'badlands', where a 25 strong lion pride roamed. He wielded a rifle that looked like it came from WWI. When asked how many bullets he was carrying, he said 30. I doubt it. When asking the seasoned veterans of the camp about risks or dangers, lions were almost the last think that came to mind - but the mantra was always go slow and be careful. They haven't had an incident in the 20+ years they have held the count. An impressive safety record indeed. None of them thought of the game count as a particularly dangerous activity, and were eager to ask what animals each group saw after their walks. This makes me think, how much of the 'fear' of the bush is instilled from one off stories and stupid mistakes - ala Grizzly Man. Given the right amount of knowledge and preparedness, is walking through the bush no less dangerous than the crime ridden streets of Johannesburg? Is this just one more Western way imposing itself? Are most African parks protecting themselves from lawsuit happy foreigners rather than protecting the foreigners from the charismatic mega-fauna that live there? Or was what I did last weekend really, really dumb?

Rural Africa

Its amazing how quickly you adapt to your surroundings, and how quickly your reality can be swept away. I awoke this morning to the bleating of goats, the crows of roosters, and the screaming of children. Here, in the rural town of Luangwa, I truly feel like I am in Africa. From my room, I overlook the confluence of the Luangwa and Zambezi rivers, dividing the land into Mozambique, Zimbabwe, and Zambia. A warm breeze blows off the river, cooling the hot afternoon. Dusty green and brown trees cover the rolling hills. The occasional baobob tree stands out in the distance as a link to ancestral times.

My room is sparse. It has two beds with mosquito nets dangling over them, swaying in the afternoon breeze. The stuffing is coming out of the worn sponge mattress. A barren light bulb dangles in the center of the room, wiring akimbo. There is a table with two chairs. A curtain divides the bathroom - an open concrete floor with a showerhead, a sink, and a toilet. This place is plush - toilet seats are a luxury, and when the water is running, the toilet flushes! There is no hot water, but the need for warm water is questionable in this heat. Cleanliness is a state of mind.

There are animals of all sorts in my room. Tiny ants with attention-deficit-disorder cover the bathroom floor, moving to and fro randomly at amazing speeds. Larger ants, not nearly as numerous, have taken over the bathroom walls. A few poor out of the sink faucet when the water is first turned on. Even larger ants, only a few, can be found hiding in the main room, taking refuge from spiders of all shapes and sizes, geckos on the walls - both inside and outside the room - and a few wasps unhappily trapped inside the screen windows, confused and frustrated. There is a cockroach that inhabits the recess behind the shower faucet. Forget about the large animals thatare occasionally spotted outside - lions, elephants, and hippos.

My room overlooks a hidden valley along the river, and from a secluded rock outcropping I can peer down on village life - safe from the stares of kids who have only ever seen a handful of white folk and the incessant greetings of kids proudly practicing their English. Twenty circular mud huts with conical grass roofs are dotted along a dirt hillside which drops to the river. The architecture is the same as my room, just smaller, with no windows and I doubt a toilet with a seat. The garden is full of kids shuttling buckets of water from the river to the straight green rows of vegetables. Clothes hanging on lines add color to the landscape, swinging softly in the breeze. Screams and hollers abound. A young kid runs over to the edge of the village, his pants around his ankles in the blink of an eye. Off he runs to join his friends, his business done. Chickens and goats mind themselves among the huts, avoiding roving gangs of children. Women
stroll from hut to hut, or have gathered to prepare a meal.

I check my email on my phone.

The scene is entrancing, soothing - or perhaps that's the cool wind bringing peace to the end of a string of long days. We installed solar power in a nearby clinic today. We installed our shiny, new
solar panel next to three old ones on the roof. Each looked like the panel itself still worked, but the lighting and radio systems they supported do not. I'm told they are only a few years old, but the batteries are trashed, the light bulbs burned out. A charge controller and 1kW inverted sit by idly, unconnected, unloved, and collecting dust. The work may not have been shoddy to begin with, but looks it now, with wires hanging left and right, some spliced randomly together in unexpected ways. The power provided by Luangwa town, not more than a 10 minute drive from the clinic, is unavailable. The nearest power line is probably within 1-2 km of the clinic. The thermal power produced in the area is exported to Mozambique, but not connected to villages just as close by.

There are many things here that warm the heat, and many that tear it apart.

During our stay a part of the generator for the town's electricity failed, and a replacement needed to be shipped from the capital. The power company, Zesco, kindly posted hand-written fliers on trees throughout town explaining the issue. When the note mentions the need to find alternative means to find fresh food - you know it could be awhile before you hear the hum of electricity again...