Field Day

Every muscle in my boy aches. Particularly my pelvic muscles. I could not figure out why I was having body pains. Pretty quickly my slightly hypochondriac mind conjured up malaria as a possibility. Oh, no did I forget my Mefloquin?? Just as I was reaching for that box of Coartem and the phone to call the Peace Corps Medical Office with my diagnosis, I remembered. Limbo.

Two days ago, it started with just two girls coming to see me. They sat on my porch with me and answered a satisfied “yes” to every question I posed or statement I made. “How old are you?” “Yes”, “Do you like school?” “Yes” “What is your name?” “Yes” They didn’t know what I said. Didn’t care, they were just pleased to be hobnobbing it with Madam Wendy. I didn’t ask them to call me. Makes it sound like I run a house of ill repute. Eventually when they agreed that yes, their hair was on fire, I stopped talking. And we just sat. Can I just interject here to say that I am not a person who loves children? Don’t get me wrong, there are children that I love. Like my nephew. There are even children that I like. My nephew again and two of my four godchildren. I’M KIDDING! I don’t dislike them, but I don’t like them solely on the basis that they are children. That’s fair, right? But I digress.

Anyway, two more girls happened by. This is it is in the village. Where two or three are gathered, more will come. Never fails. I suppose the person walking by assumes they are missing out on something important, then it looks more important because now there are ten people standing in a huddle. Snowball effect.

Anyway the second set of girls were carrying groundnuts they had just picked. They dumped a few in my hands then sat down with us. One girl started tossing the nuts in the air trying to catch them in her mouth. We watched, cheered and laughed. Then another started doing it. Since I figured they weren’t leaving any time soon, I got in on the act. That sent them over the edge when they saw me participating. They started shrieking the trademark Zambian sound of excitement, surprise, or reaction to a juicy story “Ee-yaaay!” When you try it, pretend your voice is on a fast moving boomerang. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

From there we were tossing nuts into each other’s mouths and missing most of the time. I just said a blessing in my mind over those nuts because nobody’s hands were clean and the ones we missed, were picked up and thrown again. From there the girls picked up a long stick and played a game similar to the concept of a SkipIt. I’m old. They dragged the stick side to side while the player jumped over it. Seemed easy enough. And fun so I jumped in and kept egging the girl on “Faster, Faster” I think she figured I was old and wouldn’t be able to keep up if she went faster but I wanted to play. She sped up, I tripped. Oh well.

By now a group of at least 20 children were watching from the church yard. They edged closer and closer until finally I told them to come on and play. Let the games begin!

High Jump

Two people held a stick for the players to take a running leap over. Like hurdles. Each round they raised the stick higher and higher. I played until my foot caught the stick at knee level. The last players were jumping at chest level. I mean a grown woman’s chest with very supportive underwire. I literally could not watch in the moment they went over, sure somebody was about to take a spill. Some did, but these kids were amazing. Particularly the last girl standing. She was so long and graceful, it looked effortless. The last boy had the holders with the stick at neck level before I put a stop to it. He was going to try it though?

Limbo

I suggested the Limbo as an alternative. Can you believe they’ve never heard of it? Usually I am not the most limber person when I play this ku America. But that day I was leaning and shimmying, dusting those kids. They really struggled to bend over backwards, as young as they were. So I came in and cleaned up. I leaned back so far, I saw the stick, the sky, then the kids behind me cheering me on. I think that was about the time rigor mortis set in.  But in that moment, it was worth it. I’d started to feel like the mean old lady that only ever said, “Muli Shani”, “Get out of my trash pit!”, and “Uh uh, tecissuam (that’s bad)”. But today I wasn’t dismissing them or waving them away like flies. We were having fun.

When it started getting late and they had to go home, in a dejected voice I asked “Oh, you’re leaving? Ok. See you tomorrow”

Overnight Celebrity

This was planned to be called “A Wedding Story” but turns out there was no wedding. The intent of last night’s ceremony was lost in translation when I was invited. I was invited by a neighbor’s granddaughter’s ceremony who was getting married. That was the description. Thinking I would be attending a wedding, I went with my host mom and walked, to my surprise, straight into an infamous Zambian ceremony I’d read about and hoped to be invited to. The Overnight.

I walked into a dim room where eight or nine other people were sitting on the floor. Following my host mom’s example, I laid on my right side, cupped my hands and clapped twice, turned onto my left side and clapped again before placing some money onto a chitenge covering a pot into the center of the floor. A lady that I have missed seeing since site visit directed me to sit next to her. She speaks pretty good English, so she told me the money was for the bride to have for herself when she gets married. Almost like a dowry. Or a rainy day fund. Speaking of the bride, where was the lady in white? I deduced that she was the pretty young woman sitting across from me looking uninterested and slightly annoyed to be there. I’ve noticed it seems most pictures of African marriage ceremonies, the women look like they couldn’t care less to be there and don’t want to get married. I’m sure inside they are as jittery and excited as any other bride, but perhaps they’re not supposed to look eager?

Goody Basket

The basket under the chitenge was eventually uncovered and all the items pulled out. There were about thirty handmade clay figurines inside, each different with a different meaning and song illustrating it’s meaning. They looked like something you would see in an ancient African art museum. It was so cool to see that people actually still use things of this nature. My second counterpart, the bride’s grandfather, is fluent in English and often translates for me in meetings when I don’t feel like wasting time stumbling to find the words. He listened to each song and told me what they were singing about. I remember two hats represented a male and female eagle and the moral of the song was not to marry a man who is aggressive or argumentative…? Ok, don’t understand the relevance, but good advice nontheless. There was a figurine of a pregnant woman with a baby strapped to her back to show that there should be no space between babies. Ha!A canoe. They sang a song while a woman dipped the canoe over imaginary waves. I think it was something sexual because she whispered the meaning to the girl. Some objects left no question as to it’s nature. A stick shaped like a penis. Self-explanatory. A female figurine with a cleft in her groin area. A male figure they placed her under. My counterpart tactfully did not translate the songs for these, and I didn’t ask, but I think I got the gist. After the songs they handed each object to the bride who took and held them reluctantly while they did a little speech about each one. My host mom even jumped in and narrated a couple of the figurines. I did not understand if this is something you have to be trained for, but I’m thinking every married woman has these symbols memorized from their weddings. Oral tradition?

Sex Education

After the goody basket was finished, my counterpart did his claps and left the room. More women had joined the group by this point and this is where things took a different turn. Zambian style dancing consists mainly (only) of the hips and pelvis. How fast, how slow, how smooth, how deliberately you can make the thrusts and twists. Upon first seeing these dances, they looked suspiciously sexual to me. I was taken aback when I first saw children dancing to music this way. Even the youngest ones could put an amateur bellydancer like myself to shame. I don’t even try to compete. From the outside looking in, it looks bizarre to see them, but I understand now, that’s just how they dance. It comes from their traditional dances and who am I to impose my line of thinking on someone else’s culture? The rural Zambian society is pretty conservative. They don’t wear shorts above the knees. But the dancing kind of hinted to me that there was a hidden side to the typical rural dwelling Zambian.

Using these dances, the ladies demonstrated some technical aspects of, ahem, marital duties. I’m blushing as I’m typing. I mean they got down. One woman would start the song, take the floor and the rest would join in as she showed the girl a couple of positions that had to do with the song. During some songs the bride was made to get up and do what the instructor was doing. I just didn’t know where to look. Sitting butt level with a woman wiggling her butt, am I supposed to look at it? Haha. I respectfully averted my eyes at first. Then I tried taking cues from the other ladies including the bride when she wasn’t being instructed. They were watching her hips with no shame, ululating in encouragement when the dancer really got into it. Finally I forced myself to get over what I’ll call prudishness I wasn’t even aware I had and watch. But when one of the especially talented women got on floor and did a very explicit move, I involuntarily pretended to scratch an itch on the top of my head and hid my eyes behind my arm. That brought so much laughter from the women and prompted them to make all kinds of comments and questions to me. I pled the fifth. I don’t know anything, never seen anything. Completely unknowledgeable in these matters.

 

They kept urging me to dance, but I gotta say, I sat out because these women would have showed me up SO bad! To be clear, these were not stripper moves. They weren’t pop locking on a headstand or any stunts like that. It was actually all informative maneuvers for a bride to learn. I resolved I’d practice at home and at the next one I’d debut my moves, but for now, I’d plead shyness. Heck, I was shy! When people think of African women, mostly we believe they are conservative, which a lot of the time they are in dress and behavior. If we thought about it, we might believe that it follows that they are also conservative behind closed doors. We believe that as Americans we are the most sexually liberated, expressive and free. But I can tell you that all the Zambians in the room were nothing but celebratory and comfortable with the demonstrations. The one American in the room had to look away a few times. And its not just me. I guarantee you would feel the same reaction in that situation. But we are the ones who walk around in public half naked!

Except for myself and the bride, no other unmarried women were allowed. Like I said, it seemed all married women know the songs and dances and each spontaneously got up and did a song and dance. And each of them could move like a professional. These are women I know from around the village, preacher’s wives, choir leaders, mothers and grandmothers, just friendly ladies. They don’t dress sexy. Usually in work clothes for farming. You wouldn’t think they would ever do these things. But come to think of it, all of them have several children… I made sure to mention this correlation and they got a kick out of that. Haha.

And the Beat Goes On

 

My host and I got there about 7:00 p.m. I’ll admit it still didn’t click that I was at an Overnight until about 1:00 a.m. when I decided I was ready to go home. Four ladies had been going on the drums so hard that after a while each of them needed Vaseline for their hands because they had blistered and cracked. And they kept going. Song after song. I really like watching them. Usually on t.v. you see the men beating out the tunes for dances, but the three occasion I’ve seen people playing the drums here, aside from children, they’ve been women and they’re passionate players. I was pleased to see one of the oldest women in the village, so old she is one of the few remaining that has tribal tattoos on her face, jump on instrument and she was beating it for all it worth all night! Go Bamayo! Still, things cease to be as fun at 1 a.m. when you’re used to going to bed at 8:30 or 9:00. Most of the others had been nodding and dozing, only to be shaken awake and made to sing the response to whatever song was being sung. The bride was exhausted; I imagine she’d been up all day. I knew there had been a ceremony in the forest before coming to the house. Could be the real reason she was looking done with it all by the time I saw her.

Let’s Dance the Last Dance

I decided it was time to make my excuses and go on home since it appeared everyone else was content to keep sitting and nodding. I moved from a sitting to a kneeling position. The music stopped. Ba Wendy is going home?? Oh no! No no no no no. Awe! Bwaila (its late). I was led and literally put to bed on a mattress with three children in the next room. That’s when it sank in I was in for the long haul. I’ve gotten pretty used to my house these days, I don’t sleep as well in other places now. I definitely don’t sleep as well when there is singing and drumming going on in the next room and a little kid keeps trying to steal the blanket off my toes. And I fought for them. It was fuh-reezing. Did you know it gets very cold in Zambia? Cold season is not just called that in comparison to the U.S.  Surprise.

After I dozed off, a few hours later the drumming stopped and I peeked in the room. Everyone was wrapped in their chitenge laying down asleep. So I take it I was the only one who didn’t get the memo an overnight was a sleepover. Don’t go there. Over-night. I get it now. When light finally began to show, the drumming started up again and I made my way back to the room. Most were awake. Some were still trying to sleep off the effects of the homebrew. Good luck. Eventually someone outside started singing and crawled in the room on all fours with a plate of ubwali on her back with another woman following her with the relishes (chicken, greens, and beans). Breakfast. After a few more songs and drumming, it was broad daylight and time to go home and start the day. The last song was about it being time to go home and take a bath, but you can’t go back to bed because its time to start the day. And, quite surprisingly, I went home, bathed, and started the day.

-Side Note: I have left out some parts of the ceremony. I do not wish to reveal all of what is a very important tradition to the people who practice it and make it common and subsequently trivialized. I hope in what I have shared, none will find offense.

 

Peace Corps Workout Plan

“1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and get them sit ups right

And tuck your tummy tight, and do your crunches like this…”

– The New Workout Plan, Kanye West

I used to be the type to do sit-ups sporadically. I was dedicated in the gym for a while. Sometimes I even deprived myself of food I like. I was never truly satisfied with the results. There was always something that needed to be worked on, and I gave myself “summer bikini goals” every year and when summer time rolled around…speaking of rolls. Haha. Since coming to Zambia I haven’t been on any (self-imposed) diet or workout plan. Yet somehow I’ve been dropping the weight without even trying. Let me tell you how you too can lose weight. It won’t be easy, these are major life adjustments, but you will achieve results in one month that you’ve been working towards for years.

Get Plenty of Rest

All weight loss gurus quip about this, but I think they may have underestimated just how much sleep is needed to achieve your goal. What time does the sun go down where you live? Try this, cook your dinner before the sun sets, eat it right after. Limit yourself to one small portable flashlight or head lamp, aside than that, use no electricity. Pretend there’s a 7 hour time difference between you and all your friends and relatives. You can call and text them, but keep in mind that when it’s night for you, they are just going on their lunch break, and when they get off, it’s about 11 p.m. where you live. So keep the fantasy going and limit your talk time accordingly. OK! You can read a book if you like that or listen to a battery powered ipod or radio. Try tuning into the BBC. If you do these strictly, by 8:00 you will be ready to hit the hay. Climb in bed, turn off your lamp and you’ll be snoring by 8:30. Wake up around 7 a.m. and you will have gotten the 10.5 hours necessary to slim those thighs.

Drink Water

We’re going to have to do some more pretending here. Ok, pretend there’s no store within 6 miles of you. You have a bike. You have no car. You have a bike. When you do make the quest to town, you are there for all supplies needed to last for at least a week. You have a bike. If you forgo a head of cabbage and decide to suffice on collards alone as your one vegetable, you can fit three bottles of your choice of Coke products into your saddle bag. This is all the drink variety you will have for a week. Now for the rest of your hydration intake, there’s water. Walk ,1 miles to a neighbor’s house, or a creek if you have one nearby. Bring buckets. Draw or fill 5 gallons each and lug those back to the house. You can carry one on your head if you are skilled in that area. When you get home, dump these buckets into a huge vat. Boil for 20 minutes. You’re not done yet, now lift this vat to tip the hot water into a water filter. Wait about 40 minutes and drink your fresh, warm-room temperature water. I heard cold water was bad for you anyway.

Cut Back on the Sweets

In fact, limit yourself to the amount of sweets you can fit into a saddle bag each week along with all your groceries and, oh, those three bottles of soda. I almost forgot, the sweets you are familiar with and love are not available. No ice cream. Even if it could survive the bike ride, there’s no electricity at home. No refrigerator! Snack cakes don’t exist, just forget you ever met Little Debbie. Not very many candy bars and chocolate for sale here. I guess the heat and the electricity-less shops would prove to be to their detriment. Don’t despair though, there are biscuits (cookies) galore! Now, stores don’t always restock regularly, so be prepared to eat some stale ones if you really want them. And words like “Creamy, Chocolate, Strawberry, or Delicious” written on the packages don’t always mean that’s how it’s going to taste. This all serves as motivation not to buy! It’s a dieting tactic!

 Eat Less Meat

I’m no vegetarian (by choice), but I can agree that since my period of my meat-once-a-week began, the pounds fell off. This is how you accomplish that if you can’t just imagine giving up that cheeseburger. Go back to pretending that you have no electricity and you go to town once a week. There are no meat sources except for your neighbor’s chicken who come daily to raid your trash pit and you’ll be dragged before the chief if you steal/kill/eat one. Wait, life is still worth living. You’re still allowed to have chicken, beef, or sausage on the day you go to the market. At the butchery, allow yourself just enough meat that you can cook and eat that night, possibly have a bit leftover the next day sans refrigeration. So, stock up and eat up!

Eat Less

One Problem American overeaters have is that in America, eating is a pastime. Food is fun. We go out to eat, cooking is a hobby. Pretend its just for sustenance. Limit your seasonings to salt. No Emeril BAMming over here. Severely limit your access to a small variety of food that you shop for weekly. It’s not so fun anymore, huh? Eat the same thing every day. You’ll stop eating so much. Now, to further lessen temptation’s hold on you, when it’s time to cook, grab some charcoal, and a few matches. Find something to light it with. Put all this in a brazier and spend around twenty minutes fanning the coals to the right amount of heat, and cook your fabulous dinner. Cook fast so that you can use the coals to boil your water and heat bath water before the coals die. If you do it really fast, the brazier can serve as a heat source on cold and chilly nights. Feeling the burn yet?

Exercise

I know that people think of sit-ups, push-ups, jogging, and using different machines are the only way to do it. Unfortunately, we get burned out with the same old, same old. The fresher you keep your routine, the more likely you’ll be to stick with it. Here are some exercises to keep you going.

Guava tree climb: Total body workout Pick and climb.

200 Meter Water Bucket Dash: No more flabby arms!

Chimbusu Squat: Less strenuous than your traditional squat, this one works your buns and thighs. For added resistance, pretend flies are coming out of a pit slamming into your unmentionables. Lean and rock!

Bike everywhere you go: Throw some hills and sand pits in there. Make it an obstacle course.

Limbo: Find some local children and challenge them to a limbo constest. Works your stomach, pelvis, back, and muscles you didn’t know you had! Don’t play a recording of the song.

Treat Yourself

The Peace Corps workout is strenuous. Its all day, every day exercise and self-denial. Can you get a break? Remember those once a week 6 mile grocery runs to town? When you get to town, eat everything in sight. If there’s ice cream, eat two cartons, can’t take it with you. Stop at your favorite restaurant that offers nshima, sausage, village chicken, or broiler chicken. Don’t worry if you don’t have a favorite restaurant. They all have the same thing. Eat everything you thought about over the last week. Its not really cheating. You’ll work it all off in the 6 miles back.

This is the Peace Corps workout plan and I can provide testimonial that it works- Wendy

*This workout plan is satirical. It works, but I cannot be held responsible for a person passing out, becoming malnutritioned, or going crazy*