Tingly feet

Be has had her first experience of the foot spa!

Let me tell you about it.

It was warming up in the hallway and making a humming sound, and she was scared to pass by it for fear it might do something to her. She only got convinced it's safe to pass after consulting it with her grandma, her main advisor/authority around here. Sure enough Munty and I made her try it!

We had to leave it on the lowest vibration and she was more than happy with one minute of food massage. But watching her count the bubbles and monitor everything was priceless. I don't think she particularly liked the tingly feeling on her soles but she experienced another one of the 'strange city things'. Too cute!

On flying wheels, soon again.

Just thought I'd upload a simple travel map of my upcoming trip home. I can't- can't- can't believe it's been 3 months already! This Sunday afternoon I'm taking off at Kenneth Kaunda in Lusaka to transfer twice (in Johannesburg and Cairo) until I get off on Monday evening at Vienna Int Airport to be driven home by my sweetest family whom I'll see after a year.

Yay!

The charm of power cuts

At first I was annoyed when ZESCO, the main Zambian electricity company, would cut power every other evening (during prime food time!) for two hours. I was annoyed mainly because I have ignored the wise advice of my friends who suggested that I purchase a flashlight (or a torch as they call it around here) before I head out to Zambia. I decided that I won’t stereotype and won’t expect regular power shedding as I often hear is the case in many African countries. Well, three months in, the cuts are now as haphazard as ever, both in timing and length, and I still haven’t purchased a torch. I guess I “got used” (another Zambian phrase :). And I’ve also discovered positives about evening blackouts.

It’s true that without power at night the TV is off and one can’t even read to pass time. Some would grump and be bored, sitting around or napping in the dark, and initially I was also. But later, I realized that I can get to know my host family better in moments like these. We are ‘forced’ to talk much more when the TV is off (and the candles offer the only light), and the conversations teach me a lot about the family relationships and culture in general (that is, when I understand what’s being talked about in between the Lozi and Tonga phrases). The fact that we’re talking by the candlelight creates a special atmosphere. We also play games (Monopoly is Munty’s favorite- she's quite business-spirited; I prefer Scrabble- I hear that's a typical nerd trait), joke around and just relax. What a bonding.

But yes, we always rejoice when the fuse box clicks back. We can finally finish cooking supper.

It all came together Part 1: Inquire. At all cost.

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Following up on my previous post, with joy and extreme relief in my heart I can announce that both the immigration and the University of Zambia issue are now officially solved.

First, about the visa extension. (Disclaimer: It's not as serious as the title suggests)

I have paid the last visit to the Immigration Department the Thursday before I left for Mpika. After waiting for some time for the Accounts manager, I was finally given my temporary employment permit- a green, passport-sized book with a stamp granting me business engagement longer than I originally asked for- until late September. But before the officer handed it to me, she said that the boss wanted to talk to me. I was a bit surprised but thought that she might just have some additional questions since I showed up at the Department some five times.

Questions she had! 

She told me that the officers have filed a report that I’ve been rude to them. She also accused me of calling one of them “rubbish”. I gasped for air and couldn’t believe my ears. Instead of them apologizing me for the incompetent treatment of applicants (I wasn’t the only immigrant being spoken to arrogantly during my visits), I was supposed to apologize for something I hadn’t even done. As calmly as I could, I told her that I didn’t cuss anyone out since,

1) I don’t use the word rubbish even on a regular basis (it’s British English),

2) I find cussing cowardly since one can’t express his/her opinion about a person in an intelligent way.

I also explained that I didn’t come to her country to offend people, especially not government officials, and it didn’t even make sense for me to be rude since I wanted my application to be processed fast and without any controversies.

But since she gave me the opportunity to speak out, I told her my view on the officers’ arrogant attitude, and how I felt they mistreated other applicants as well (I witnessed that each time I was waiting there for someone to attend to me).

     That is the fateful door. 32.

I try to understand why in fact I was called into the boss’ office. Looking back, I don’t think I have said or done anything that could offend an officer who is well equipped to assist and answer applicants’ questions and concerns. Maybe I asked too much, or maybe just the mere fact that I asked bothered them. Maybe they thought that by calling this young and apparently inexperienced foreigner to the Director’s office they would teach me a lesson or two about being (overly) inquisitive. I can say I have learned my lesson. I will keep on being nosy. Respectful, but nosy nevertheless. I followed all lawful procedures and paid them $300 in fees (which I still can’t get over- I don’t get paid, I’m a student, and the NGO I am affiliated with is non-profit and not really lush with cash; where am I supposed to find the money?). So I see it appropriate and my right to ask questions and have them answered politely (just tell me if you don’t know).

I was leaving the Pensions House for the last time that day (I pray and believe so!), feeling a bittersweet sense of victory. After a 2 month-long hunt I got my papers and am no longer an illegal immigrant. At the same time, I felt humiliated and offended by literally the whole Department turning on me. But I can conclude that it was a good experience. Next time I will brace myself better. And ask more.

Not in a good mood, but...

I know it’s dangerous to write posts when one is ‘emotionally unstable’ (in other words a bit angry/annoyed/frustrated, as I am right now) but I will give it a try anyways. I was told that blogs are about expressing the real experience, not a sugar-coated version of it, even if it implies that one has to be a little less objective while describing a particular situation. At the end of this not so pleasantly written post however, I will express a glimpse of hope that keeps me holding on to seeing the cup as half full and the present challenges. So here I go...

It’s not easy to be here by myself. Although I am affiliated with an NGO, they are not in charge of my legal status or overlooking the progress of my study. As such, I am an 'independent unit', having to swim through the raging seas of American and Zambian immigration and scholastic administration alone. Sometimes, I hit a rock. And sometimes I keep hitting it.

I will be honest with you and tell you that when people back home ask me about my trip, I will not talk about Zambia, or at least Lusaka, with the wild optimism characteristic of lots of globally engaged young student souls. My experience so far has been rough in terms of trying to solve issues that urgently need solving, and it is making me aware of many downsides in the local work ethic. But hey, I've been learning that in Slovakia for the past 22 years. So I guess it's just the surprise that I found a similar system here.

I am halfway done with my study on rural-urban migration, but I am still missing the UNC Internal Research Board’s approval that would enable me to legally conduct my research. I am hence violating the IRB’s regulations (which makes this a quite bold public confession that I hope will not be read by anyone from the actual Board). The reason for this is that I cannot receive a simple, half-a-page recommendation from a Zambian faculty member which would validate to UNC that my study is ethically okay in Zambian standards (i.e. not offensive or disturbing to the local population). I have tried it through various channels where I was sometimes asked to pay exorbitant sums to have my approval reviewed, or referred to this or that other faculty member who is usually too busy to reply to his missed calls, let alone write and sign a letter. But to sympathize with him, they've been having a crazy schedule publishing semester exam results.

Another, and perhaps the most annoying issue I am dealing with, is the impasse at the immigration. I paid 4 mostly useless visits to the downtown regional office in hopes of having my business visa extended until August. The first time I went there was a month ago, shortly before my visa expired. From then on I’ve been trying to put my documents together, get the payment ready ($300 for an NGO temporary employment permit makes it almost $400 when I consider the first visa fee I paid before traveling to Z) and wait and wait and wait for them to pick up my application and actually work on it. I waste time, money and energy calling the office, traveling downtown and missing work again and again, but especially dealing with the officers’ attitude. At first I thought it was only one worker but after having the privilege of cruising through different offices I concluded that the whole department must have an issue with dealing with people politely. Asking questions and demanding an explanation are obviously not welcomed, judging from their arrogant replies and indifferent looks. It raises my pulse each time I think of the Pensions House (where the immigration dept is found). 

With faith and prayers, I am going to the Immigration again tomorrow to finally pick up my employment permit. Hopefully, I will also receive the study recommendation from a Dean at the University of Zambia later in the day. I would be very happy to have all of this done before I leave for Mpika on Sunday where I will be staying for a week. But even if not, I know that these things are teaching me a life lesson, and that although ‘all discipline seems painful at the moment’, one day I will be able to say that in the realms of bureaucracy I have grown since this summer.

So wish me good luck tomorrow :)

Found your other pair of TOMS!

I always wondered where that free pair of TOMS shoes goes once you purchase the quite pricy pair in the US. Well, I guess I found it :)

I've been seeing many kids walking around Lusaka to school in TOMS. I sneakily snapped this picture at a hairdresser's shop in the Ngombe slum where I noticed the shoes on these twin girls (there are tons of twins in Zambia by the way). In the current dusty conditions (or muddy in the rainy season), and especially walking and playing in the often trashed streets of Ngombe, having a pair of shoes is essential to avoid cuts and contracting foot parasites.

I surfed around a little bit to find out how the kicks get to their owners, and I found some interesting info on TOMS Zambia website. Thousands of TOMS shoes are distributed every year to children in both rural and urban communities in Zambia via partnership with World Vision.

I have met many people here who were forced to walk to school barefooted, especially those growing up in the village. My friend Paul Walia, who currently runs a school for orphaned children in Kabanana, used to walk 30 kilometers to and from school every day for 9 years with no footwear. Initiatives such as TOMS help kids get education and avoid foot injuries on a daily basis. Amazing how a pair of shoes bought in the States can go that far. It surely makes your step in TOMS much lighter.

Hi, I have sent you airtime. Stay blessed.

I figured out that one of the ways Zambian guys sometimes try to gain your favor is by sending you airtime. That means getting prepaid calling minutes and sending them to you through their phone. You can also buy them in a form of a slip of paper in the street. There are Airtel, MTN and Zamtel agents everywhere, even on the traffic circles (more locally correct is roundabouts), trying to sell you slips with 1000, 5000, 10 000 or more thousand kwatcha for your phone. But the method of sending a small "token of goodwill" is a popular technique among guys trying to earn the ladies' favor.

I met a guy at our office, Godfrey, who works at the municipal water management office in the same building.  I think he figured that I was alone and so he came to make small talk with the stranger he saw coming to Cobaco every day. We talked, and I let him know quite clearly that I am "taken" and that I didn't come to Zambia to find a husband. In my naive kindness I gave him my number anyway, just so we can stay friends. However obvious it may seem to the reader, back then I didn't understand that giving an older man (he was in his 30s) your phone number means expressing your interest in more than just a friendship. Maybe it works that way everywhere. But oh well, I just like making friends too much.

Long story short, Godfrey ended up sending me airtime two or three times. It was interesting since Zambian girls around me would get airtime sent to them from their boyfriends or very good friends (airtime is expensive as everything for Kabananans), not from men they talked to once and only for five minutes. These airtime gifts were also accompanied by sending texts and calling me late at night (I refused to pick up), and by trying to make long conversations on phone about things I didn't really want to chat about. I sent him a respectful yet sobering text asking him to kindly stop "courting" me, and that's where the story ended. A similar story happened the first week of my stay with a certain Mr Kakana, who stopped by the road offering to give me a lift (yet again, in my ignorant willingness to "be friends" I gave him my phone number). That time wasn't accompanied by sending me airtime, but the late night calls (which I didn't answer either) happened nevertheless.

Simply, I found out that giving out my phone number just to anyone is not the smartest choice. Unless I want free airtime and creepy calls at night.