Lambo in Lusaka

I had to take a double take cruising down the road the other day. For a moment, I thought I was back in Orange County. A sleek, white, Lamborghini was pulling out of a gated household onto the streets of Lusaka. Yep, that's right, a Lambo. So many thoughts and feelings overwhelmed me that I nearly fell over.

1) Why would you want to drive a Lamborghini in Lusaka? There are probably only 3 roads in the entire city that are safe to drive - the rest are ridden with enormous potholes, in complete disrepair, or have yet to be paved. There are also ginormous speed bumps on the few roads that are paved. In fact, there is one just outside of the gate the Lambo pulled out of - it COULDN'T have driven the other way down the street! I bet the owner even hires a security guard to take with them and watch the car while they are getting milk at the store.

2) The blatant disregard for the surrounding poverty makes me want to hurl. Import duties on cars in Zambia nearly double the cost paid compared to the actual worth. That's right, double the cost of that Lambo - you are talking big bucks. That is, unless there are other, hidden, deals at work... Can you imagine visiting the big city from a village - with hardly enough to feed yourself and your family, struggling to survive, and seeing this slick car that only exists in the movies and Orange County? Surely, its driven by some 'important' politician or businessman showing their 'importance' with the value of their car. Why are they busy showing their 'importance' rather than using it for some more wholesome, helpful purpose?

Prompted by the Lambo siting, I have paid more attention to the cars on the streets of Luska. I have noticed more and more exotic cars: Mercedes, BMWs, Hummers. Is this actually a sign of a growing middle class exercising their newly found purchasing power? Hmm, I think not. I think its a sign of other, more pernicious methods of obtaining wealth. Bummer.

Zambits

Despite the best laid plans to leave Lusaka at 7am sharp Monday morning for a rural site visit in Luangwa, the laws of Zambian physics prevail. Being 'on time' here is relative. Locals refer to now as within the next hour or two. Now now is within the next 15 minutes. A flurry of emails and phone calls are made to ensure our departure promptly at 7am. We leave the office by 7:08, only to find a large screw implanted in our tire within five minutes of departing. One look at the spare causes us to turn around to get an entirely new tire. We leave Lusaka 90 minutes later. Sounds about right.

We depart the clinic after a long days' work. Our of nowhere, a hysterical squawking shreaks from the back of the vehicle. Is the guy in back joking around? Nope, its the village chicken he bought and put in a cardboard box in back complaining about the bumpiness of the road.

A pickup truck flags down our Land Cruiser. I've been spotted, the lone Mzungu in the car. The driver rolls down the window and invites me to dinner. He and his wife are thrilled to share a meal with a fellow American after a bit of time in the bush. Dinner with the Texan couple is lovely: hamburgers, fried potatoes, and homemade vanilla ice cream.

Stranded. The only gas station in the rural town of Luangwa has run out of petrol. All the local utilities and enterprising individuals in town who store their own fuel for such occasions are tapped dry. The NGO I've come with sends a vehicle with spare fuel from Lusaka, five hours away. That car breaks down 3 hours into its journey. The NGO sends another car to fix the broken down car for the first car to continue on its mission to provide us with fuel.

Time to read the local paper. A sample of today's headlines from the 'Post':

"Mututwa asks govt to tell him what wrong he did" - A 92 year old accused of treason 'thanked the government for releasing him without explaining to him what wrong he committed.'

"Failures shouldn't seek re-election" - A pastoral coordinator complains at the lack of attendance of government officials at a church celebration.

"Rupiah's govt wants Mumba out of ECZ" - The President is trying to remove a justice from the Electoral Commission and replace her with someone more favorable to his government ahead of the upcoming elections.

"Use of live ammunition is unacceptable" - condemnation of the Zambian police force's use of live ammunition on citizens.

"Four to hang for murder" - four of six accused of murder are sentenced to death by hanging. They murdered someone from stealing $10.

"Electoral Code still source of mistrust" - 'the code in its current state is a source of conflict, mistrust and an erosion of public confidence in the electoral process.'

"Copperbelt cops hold man over human trafficking"

"Govt to employ over 200,000 teachers in next 10 years" - to fill the current shortfall. 80,000 teachers are currently employed in all of Zambia.

"Zambians housing deficit in billions of dollars"

"Obama faces budget battle after speech"

"Cholera causing more deaths, experts urge vaccination"

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.