Exploring the Bush (and the Nightlife)

Last night we were introduced to the world of Zambian clubbing.

This should have been yesterday’s post, but due to being otherwise occupied by the nightlife, we never got the chance to post. So apologies for the double post today – yesterday got steadily more mental, in the best way possible. Read on!

The day began with a rather sudden awakening when Oliver, one of the staff who runs the charity, arrived at our room. It was 9.00 am, but due to the previous days’ travelling, we hadn’t quite managed to get out of bed. After a rather sleepy introduction (on my part), he said he had a few things to do, and would pick us up in half an hour. At midday, we were still sat in the foyer of the guest house watching cheesy American movies - we were beginning to see the truth behind Wilson’s favourite statement, ‘You may have the wristwatches, but we have the time.’

Anyway, just as we got bored of waiting and were just about to go on a walk, a truck pulled up with Wilson and several other people packed into the cab and Oliver and two other men in the open pick-up trailer on the back. We were hoiked in to sit with them, and introductions were quickly made: most of the people were from the Zambian Council for Social Development (ZCSD), and one man was from BBC Action Zambia.

Oliver, our 'boss'

We were going out into the small villages in the bush, where the BBC and the ZCSD had been running a programme for several months in partnership with SAPEP (the Zambian partner of PEPAIDS). This programme had involved regular meetings in the villages, the general purpose of them being to get small rural communities involved in government plans – although this does not sound like hands-on AIDS prevention, it is all part of the larger picture: if these people who are at particular risk from the disease cannot tell the government what they need (which could perhaps be a request as simple as a road so they can reach hospital), any efforts made by the charity will not be felt to their fullest extent. The way this partnership of the BBC, ZCSD and SAPEP has started helping the people to interact with their government is both imaginative and effective: they supply the villages with radios and communication devices, and a local radio station runs shows which encourage interaction by text or letters from the villagers, and answers their questions. These radio shows, together with the advice and knowledge given by the SAPEP staff, have empowered the villagers to influence executive decisions which affect their own life – an important part of any democracy. 

So, this is what we were being told as we set off into the bush in the back of the truck. One thing we learnt very fast was that Zambia has very few real roads. We hadn’t quite realised this on the way from the airport, as the roads from Lusaka are tarmac – we thought those were bad, as they were spattered with potholes the size of small garden ponds. What we hadn’t counted on was the fact that these roads only run through the cities and large towns, and that the rest of the villages are several miles from the roads on dust tracks. This wouldn’t be so bad, except for the fact that these tracks are carved by deep crevasses and craters – to say our journey was bumpy would be an understatement. 

Eva looking windswept

in the back of the truck

the ox carts were a novelty to start with - this soon wore off

The first village we stopped at was about an hour from the road. On arrival, we were greeted warmly by the residents, most of whom came to shake our hands, although their English was limited. This was unexpected for us, as everyone we had met so far spoke very good English - it is the official language here. However Oliver informed us that there were 72 different local languages in use, each from a different area, and there was some confusion as to which one should be used at the meeting – the people from the village spoke one dialect, Boyd from the BBC spoke another and the people from the ZCSD spoke a variety of other dialects (although could understand most of what was being said). Poor Oliver and Wilson had their work cut out translating for us as each of the staff gave their speeches. At one point, where Lewis from the ZCSD was speaking in his dialect and Wilson was translating into the local dialect for the villagers, everyone erupted into laughter – Eva and I sat there, bewildered, on the wrong side of the joke. It transpired that Lewis had used a word meaning ‘water from a well’ in his language, which translated as ‘water from a penis’ in the local dialect – after that we joined in the humour.

Wilson (far left) and the villagers at the meeting

the village chief

looking pensive

the radio listening group

After having a brief snack with everyone, we set off to our next destination: the radio station which was broadcasting the shows. We were shown around by one of the producers, Vanessa, and discovered the full extent of what the station actually does: they broadcast not only about governmental issues, but also educational stations for children who cannot get to school, whether that might be because the nearest school is too far, or becuase they are needed for work at home, or for any number of other reasons. Again, this is an interactive show which allows the children to write in with their questions. It is a brilliant idea, and really was quite inspirational.

first time inside the booth of a radio station!

After completing the meeting at the radio station (and picking a few lemons off their incredible tree), we made our way on to another small community to give the same talk which we had done first off. The people here were again lovely and we were made to feel very much accepted (although the ground was crawling with gigantic ants).

nothing like lemons from the supermarket...

sour lemon face

At this point, it was getting rather late, so we headed off back to the town. The ZCSD and BBC people invited us over to their lodge for dinner, warning us they would only provide African food – we accepted, thinking it was high time we tried some native cuisine. I’d heard about the Zambian staple food ‘nshima’ (a paste made from maize flour) from my parents when they visited a few years ago – it was described to me as ‘like wallpaper paste that has been made too thick, and has absolutely no taste.’ Funnily enough, that’s not far from the mark – it has a rubbery texture, and serves the dual purpose of both carbohydrate and cutlery (you mould it with your hands, stick other bits of food to it and pop it in your mouth). However this was by no means the most disturbing element of the dish – on approaching the table I shrieked, ‘IT HAS EYES!’ in reference to the clump of tiny fish, absolutely whole, bones and all. The Zambians found me rather amusing. All I will say about those fish is I really did try – I was hungry after all. After a mouthful of them, my appetite oddly disappeared. Eva said she didn’t mind the taste, but after having an unusually crunchy bit was inclined to stop eating them.

the fish are on the left. If you look closely, you can see the eyes...

All day, Boyd from the BBC had been craving a beer – he’d made no secret of the fact. As it happened, he got his wish after dinner when he and one of the guys from the ZCSD (whose name I can unfortunately barely pronounce, never mind spell), persuaded Eva and I to join them for an ‘after dinner beer’. Walking in to ‘Tooters Bar Nightclub’, I have never felt like such a sore thumb. Not only were Eva and I the only white people there, we were two of only four women. Apparently there are sometimes more women, especially around weekends and paydays, but culturally many women are still expected to stay at home. The club itself reminded me of one you might find in the… well, ‘less affluent’ end of any UK city – blue UV lighting, partially cracked wall-to-wall mirrors and brightly painted ceilings. This, however, is apparently the place to be of an evening in the small town of Monze. And to be honest, we had a great time.

Clubbing etiquette is somewhat different here to back in the UK. For a start, the music here appears to have a much deeper lyrical content – the guys were trying to explain the message behind each song, including one which appeared to be about infertility. Apparently if a man and a woman have been married for a year without having children, society starts asking questions as to who is ‘not working’. This led to some interesting conversations about cultural differences between Zambia and the UK. Also, instead of the clubbers in Zambia hiding in a crowd to conceal their generic ‘jump-up-and-down-do-something-with-your-arms’ dance as in the UK (for me at least), people will actively seek out a spot in front of the mirror to unashamedly observe their own moves. One woman watching herself do a provocative hip-wiggle was not to be outdone by a man practicing what appeared to be some form of Tai-Chi, the beer in his hand occasionally slopping onto the lino floor.

At the end of the night, we fell into bed, absolutely shattered. Well, it was never going to stay at just one beer, was it?