Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Wild animals ahead
The pictures speak for themselves, but I'll have a write-up of the whole experience shortly.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Safari!
It's happening this weekend, finally: two nights at Flatdogs Camp in South Luangwa, with about 16 hours of game drives all together. Watch this spot for a full report early next week.
Banana harvest
Taking advantage of the power outage last Friday, I decided to take a little trip somewhere the messy business of electricity is irrelevant: the farm. As a source of additional income, Northrise operates a banana plantation of sorts on the outskirts of the city. My trusty Nikon and I bore witness to the harvesting process, top to bottom.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
In which I become horribly lost
It's been far too long. Last weekend was supposed to be devoted to blog updates, but then the power went out---everywhere in the country, as it turned out. A power surge swiftly followed, knocking the university building off the grid and wreaking havoc with our poor, poor ISP's servers. We finally came off the generators on Sunday and the Internet came back from the dead this afternoon. It was a rough weekend.
But enough about the present: it's time to take you back to an incident from last week.
On the evening of July 13, I went out for a walk. It was around 4:45 PM (or "16:45 hours," as they say here) and I wasn't particularly bothered by the knowledge that it gets very, very dark not long after 6 PM. Nor was I concerned that I was walking into heretofore unexplored territory---what's the worst that could happen?
Things started out well. I walked briskly down the street, heading north up a fairly steep incline, taking note of the city's Coca-Cola bottling plant and various palatial-looking houses secure behind sturdy steel gates. Perhaps this is the affluent district, I thought. The road eventually curved east and leveled off, and I came to a scenic overlook that afforded an excellent view of just how much ground I had covered. It was 5:45, and I figured I was about a mile-and-a-half directly northeast of the university. Then came the decision: should I turn around and follow the known---read: boring---path back, or should I press on and find another way?
Being the intrepid adventurer that I am, I chose the latter. Continuing east, the road sloped downward, an encouraging sign. But after perhaps a quarter mile it unceremoniously dead-ended in a field, the periphery of a shanty town that is, I was later told, "not a really great area to be in by yourself." But look: a narrow path through the tall grass heading sort-of southwest! Surely that would eventually lead...somewhere. After ten minutes, I was dumped onto some train tracks. Having followed some other tracks on my walk of a few days prior, I wishfully imagined that these tracks would eventually intersect those tracks and it would be a cakewalk from there.
But then it got dark. Stumbling over the tennis-ball-sized rocks that formed the "path" between the tracks, I cursed my luck. This was slow going. After 20 minutes, the ground began to rumble. Then a thundering horn pierced the relative silence of my trek thus far. An enormous train came around the bend on the left track, and I quickly ran forward and to the right to wait it out. My position afforded me a view of what lay around the bend: a train depot, perhaps the same one I had seen on my earlier walk. But then the train halted and large men in bright yellow vests jumped off and ran around examining this and that; I was terrified they would spot me in the bushes and demand an explanation---this probably wasn't a place I had any business being in. After a minute or two they jumped back on, and the train abruptly began moving in reverse, back toward the depot. I waited a moment and followed.
Approaching the depot, and taking care to stay of the searing glare of the train's headlamps, I encountered my next obstacle: the sentry. At least I think he was a sentry---who else would be standing in a tall tower surveying the territory in my direction? Imagining that he had a sniper rifle he liked to use to pick off invaders like me, I crouched down and followed a fork of the track left, away from the depot but also away from the direction I needed to go. It was about that time that I began losing hope of getting back anytime soon.
Things got worse. This track was the only path through waist-high grass, so I had no choice but to follow it and hope for the best. But soon it too became overgrown: this was clearly a disused section of the railroad. After five minutes of struggling through the weeds, potential deliverance glimmered in the distance: a light, which I soon saw was attached to a small building. Two men lounged outside, chatting and drinking Mosi, a local lager. I knew this was my only chance to figure out just where the hell I was, so, mustering my courage, I played the dumb American and sheepishly told them I was lost and needed directions back to town.
They were friendly! I was too far away to walk, they said, but they were happy to show me to the bus station. We walked through the darkness for about ten minutes and then waited in even deeper darkness for a bus. Every car that passed threw up great clouds of dust, and the few people still walking about at this hour were shadowy and spectral in the diffuse glow of the headlamps; I wish could have photographed that properly. Eventually one of the junky blue buses arrived, and for 2500 kwacha (50 cents !) I was back home. My watch read 7:45 PM as I unlocked the gate.
But enough about the present: it's time to take you back to an incident from last week.
On the evening of July 13, I went out for a walk. It was around 4:45 PM (or "16:45 hours," as they say here) and I wasn't particularly bothered by the knowledge that it gets very, very dark not long after 6 PM. Nor was I concerned that I was walking into heretofore unexplored territory---what's the worst that could happen?
Things started out well. I walked briskly down the street, heading north up a fairly steep incline, taking note of the city's Coca-Cola bottling plant and various palatial-looking houses secure behind sturdy steel gates. Perhaps this is the affluent district, I thought. The road eventually curved east and leveled off, and I came to a scenic overlook that afforded an excellent view of just how much ground I had covered. It was 5:45, and I figured I was about a mile-and-a-half directly northeast of the university. Then came the decision: should I turn around and follow the known---read: boring---path back, or should I press on and find another way?
Being the intrepid adventurer that I am, I chose the latter. Continuing east, the road sloped downward, an encouraging sign. But after perhaps a quarter mile it unceremoniously dead-ended in a field, the periphery of a shanty town that is, I was later told, "not a really great area to be in by yourself." But look: a narrow path through the tall grass heading sort-of southwest! Surely that would eventually lead...somewhere. After ten minutes, I was dumped onto some train tracks. Having followed some other tracks on my walk of a few days prior, I wishfully imagined that these tracks would eventually intersect those tracks and it would be a cakewalk from there.
But then it got dark. Stumbling over the tennis-ball-sized rocks that formed the "path" between the tracks, I cursed my luck. This was slow going. After 20 minutes, the ground began to rumble. Then a thundering horn pierced the relative silence of my trek thus far. An enormous train came around the bend on the left track, and I quickly ran forward and to the right to wait it out. My position afforded me a view of what lay around the bend: a train depot, perhaps the same one I had seen on my earlier walk. But then the train halted and large men in bright yellow vests jumped off and ran around examining this and that; I was terrified they would spot me in the bushes and demand an explanation---this probably wasn't a place I had any business being in. After a minute or two they jumped back on, and the train abruptly began moving in reverse, back toward the depot. I waited a moment and followed.
Approaching the depot, and taking care to stay of the searing glare of the train's headlamps, I encountered my next obstacle: the sentry. At least I think he was a sentry---who else would be standing in a tall tower surveying the territory in my direction? Imagining that he had a sniper rifle he liked to use to pick off invaders like me, I crouched down and followed a fork of the track left, away from the depot but also away from the direction I needed to go. It was about that time that I began losing hope of getting back anytime soon.
Things got worse. This track was the only path through waist-high grass, so I had no choice but to follow it and hope for the best. But soon it too became overgrown: this was clearly a disused section of the railroad. After five minutes of struggling through the weeds, potential deliverance glimmered in the distance: a light, which I soon saw was attached to a small building. Two men lounged outside, chatting and drinking Mosi, a local lager. I knew this was my only chance to figure out just where the hell I was, so, mustering my courage, I played the dumb American and sheepishly told them I was lost and needed directions back to town.
They were friendly! I was too far away to walk, they said, but they were happy to show me to the bus station. We walked through the darkness for about ten minutes and then waited in even deeper darkness for a bus. Every car that passed threw up great clouds of dust, and the few people still walking about at this hour were shadowy and spectral in the diffuse glow of the headlamps; I wish could have photographed that properly. Eventually one of the junky blue buses arrived, and for 2500 kwacha (50 cents !) I was back home. My watch read 7:45 PM as I unlocked the gate.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Out and about
Many apologies for the lack of updates over the past week. Jet lag kicked in with a vengeance last weekend, and I also battled a bad cold that's still lingering. The week was taken up by teaching (which I'll write more about soon) and finishing a paper for WashU that I really should have handed in weeks ago. But today, finally, I got to see more than just the urban bubble around my apartment. Percy, an older student (he's 33), took me out to Lubuto, a suburb of Ndola, to show me the poverty in which so many Zambians and other sub-Saharan Africans still live. As a minister, he hopes to build a church and school to serve the people there.
Minibuses are a popular way to travel short distances in the area. They stop most anywhere, often illegally, and are cheap enough that many Zambians take them every day. The trip to Lubuto was about 20 minutes, but that was quite enough given how cramped the thing was: once the regular seats are filled, people sit in the aisle. There are no seatbelts. I could have died.
A view out the window of the outskirts of Ndola proper.
A banner advertising a local witch doctor. Quality medical care is expensive in Zambia, and that combined with widespread distrust of Western medicine causes many people, especially the poor, to seek out the services of people like "Doctor" Chibwanga.
Our bus, parked at the Lubuto depot. We made it, and it for only $3.
These men wanted a picture. So there you go.
An abandoned shack on the way up the hill.
At the top of the hill, facing the road leading down the other side. Stands like the ones you see here are plentiful sources of cigarettes, bottled water, nuts, and other items in rural areas.
A local house of worship, the "New Apostolic Church."
Another church of unknown denomination.
Local children flying kites. There isn't much to do around here, and many children don't attend school.
Percy, standing on the site of the planned church and school. He estimates construction costs at $5000 USD.
A pig, rummaging around in some garbage. Many residents here raise them for food and profit.
The roofs of some typical homes in this area. The rocks are the only things holding the roof together, I think.
A local boy. Note the other children in the distance carrying bundles of sticks on their head; on-head transport is ubiquitous here.
More local children. Malnutrition is surely an issue here.
To support their families, many women here break rocks with a hammer and chisel and sell the gravel for use in construction. They're often outpriced by large corporate suppliers, however.
Later in the day, Chilao Mutesa, Dean of the university and my de facto host, drove me and his wife and son to the town of Kitwe, about 45 minutes away. We strolled through the Chosokone market, one of the largest in the Copperbelt region. Thousands of people, hundreds of vendors---all packed into an area perhaps the size of a soccer field. I only managed a couple of photos before people started shouting at me; I'll have to be more covert next time.
In the market, which extends for roughly a quarter mile in every direction. I declined to sample the fried caterpillars, protein-rich though they may be.
On the way out of the market; the Mutesa family is on the right.
Artsy photo #1 out the back of the car as we drive away from the market.
Artsy photo #2.
Please note that quality has been massively reduced for the web. I should be much more regular with updates going forward. My apologies again.
A banner advertising a local witch doctor. Quality medical care is expensive in Zambia, and that combined with widespread distrust of Western medicine causes many people, especially the poor, to seek out the services of people like "Doctor" Chibwanga. 
Later in the day, Chilao Mutesa, Dean of the university and my de facto host, drove me and his wife and son to the town of Kitwe, about 45 minutes away. We strolled through the Chosokone market, one of the largest in the Copperbelt region. Thousands of people, hundreds of vendors---all packed into an area perhaps the size of a soccer field. I only managed a couple of photos before people started shouting at me; I'll have to be more covert next time.
Please note that quality has been massively reduced for the web. I should be much more regular with updates going forward. My apologies again.
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