I am walking down the dirt path through the African bush, I
am following Ba Beatrice and a fellow makuah
(white person), and I am going to
stay in the village of Tumango.
At the
beginning of this trip the opportunity to spend a few days in a nearby village
was offered to me. After talking about it to my supervisors and parents I
decided that it was indeed the opportunity of a lifetime and one I should not
pass up. To say that I was not prepared in any way is an understatement. I had
no idea what to expect but in reality no one could have told me.
After arriving back at Namwianga following a
comparatively lavish weekend in Livingstone, I immediately packed my backpack
with a change of clothes, a few necessities, food and water and headed to The
Haven with my fellow makuah Kenna.
Kenna is about to start school at Harding but has traveled the world twice over
with her family and has been here several times before; she knew what she was
doing and I was just along for the ride.
We met one
of the Aunties, Ba Beatrice (Ba is gender neutral for Mr. and Mrs.), at The
Haven for the end of her shift. Once she was finished we began the walk to her
village of Tumango. As we left the women beginning their night shift at The
Haven shot us worried looks and wished us luck only adding to my anxiety. I
knew deep down that it would be safe and enjoyable but began some Hail Mary’s
in my head anyways. We walked away from The Haven in a direction I had not been
before. We traveled down the dirt path past some houses and slowly the scenery
began to feel more like we were in the middle of Africa.
We passed
many people Ba Beatrice knew on the way there, all the while children chased us
yelling “makuah makuah!” Beatrice
began to point out the village of Tumango explaining the name comes from the
many mango trees scattered throughout the area. Finally after about a
twenty-minute walk we came behind a small structure and she said, “this is
where I stay.” A short dirt path opens onto Ba Beatrice’s home. Her house is a
small brick structure with a metal roof. In the middle of her property area is a
short wooden open hut for a cooking area, to the right is a thatch open room
for bathing and restroom. Two trees with chords running between separate her
property from the next home. The dirt area defines her home from the sprawling
African bush beyond.
When we
arrived at her home that Sunday night the sun was already setting. Up until
that point I had seen the sunset from our living room but this was a completely
different experience. Watching women come out from the bus carrying water on
their heads with babies chetanged to
their backs set against the African sunset is an image I will never forget.
After we
set our things in Beatrice’s bedroom she immediately set to cooking. As we sat
on the hand carved stools her children and their friends cautiously came over,
huddled together, and stared at us. Thankfully Kenna knows several Tongan songs
and immediately bonded with them. In the mean time Beatrice sat on her woven
plastic mat and carefully chopped cabbage on a large silver tray. After the
cabbage was boiled she began the process of making Nshima (SHEEMA), the traditional Zambian meal that I would come to
be very familiar with. It is prepared with mealie-meal
(cornmeal), oil, and boiling water. Once the water is boiling a little corn
meal is added at a time until the mixture becomes thick. Then begins the labor-intensive
process of folding it over again and again. Since the sun has set all of this
is done by a small flashlight on her cellphone.
Before eating Ba Beatrice washed
our hands for us as is the traditional way of receiving guests in Zambia. Like
I’ve explained before, Nshima looks
like mashed potatoes and has the consistency of cold grits. It has no flavor
and is traditionally eaten with your right hand. While I do not want to
disrespect Beatrice’s immense hospitality and basically the official food of
Zambia, I will say that I am not the biggest fan of Nshima and passed most of mine off to Kenna while Beatrice wasn’t
looking. I did enjoy the boiled cabbage though as it had a good amount of flavor.
The Zambians are an extremely hospitable people so I should not have been
surprised at anything Beatrice did for us but was very grateful when she made
us tea and biscuits after our Nshima.
She also gave Kenna and I her bed to sleep in while she slept on an extra
mattress in the adjoining room with her youngest daughter.
We went to
bed at 8pm and I was grateful that I was exhausted from the Livingstone trip.
The dark in the bush was like none I have ever experience before as well as
quiet. It was strange to hear no cars, no planes, and no buzz of electricity,
just quiet. Dogs and chickens scratched at the door throughout the night but
Beatrice skillfully shooed them away. We fell asleep listening to the Namwianga
radio and the night sounds of the village.
Beatrice’s
alarm went off at 5:45 am but Kenna and I did not wake until 8am. Walking
outside I was better able to see the surroundings and marvel at the fact that
we were truly in the middle of nowhere. We say that back home but with the
knowledge that a road is nearby or the glow of city lights. Here, looking
around you all you see is dotting of villages and the tops of trees and grass;
no buildings, no power lines, just Africa and it is beautiful.
Greeting
Beatrice with a “Mwabokaboti” she
immediately put us to work washing dishes. As this was her day off we helped
with a few chores and cooking but mostly just relaxed around the cooking fire.
I was a little disappointed that we didn’t work all day but again should not
have been surprised; the Zambian culture is a very relaxed one. That coupled
with the fact that is was her day off, I should have been more prepared to hang
out with her neighbors and children. We did get to walk to the water pump and
gather water for the day. Unfortunately the children we went with knew we
wouldn’t be able to carry the water on our heads so they just let us carry the
containers with handles and caps. I was extremely impressed with the older
woman who was working the water pump when we arrived; she left with a huge bucket
on her head and carrying one with her hand.
I want to end this post with the
observations and thoughts I had while staying in Tumango. I did not take
pictures because I thought of how I would feel if I extended such amazing
hospitality and someone took pictures of my home like it was a zoo. The first
is that these people are extremely happy, happier than a lot of people I know
in the States. It amazed me that the children completely entertained themselves
with literally just themselves and their imagination and they were also happier
than a lot of children I know in the States.
I haven’t
spoken with enough people yet to know what exactly the mindset of the rural
population is towards working and “moving up” but to see so many people so
content with what exactly they have was beautiful. The only possibly negative
observation I had is something that I have also picked up on from the books I
am reading while here. The basic foundation of living remains the same; no
running water, no electricity, etc. However, almost every person I see has a
cell phone and the water pump is fairly modern. I find it extremely interesting
that instead of first fixing the foundation they are adding modernity onto the
traditional impoverished foundation.
My two days in the village is an
experience that I will never forget. It is one that I will always cherish and
hold close to my heart. It was extremely eye opening and heart warming to be in
the presence of such giving people and smiling children. I hope one day I will
be able to return to the village of mangos, Tumango.
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