Cultural Differences and Deep Fried Fish

Today’s been a really interesting day.

We were picked up by Wilson this morning to go to a community school in the bush, where we were going to see some of the work which is being done for children by SAPEP and PEPAIDS (and have some fun and games whilst we were there). On arrival, we were stared at rather suspiciously by the children, but they began to interact more as we helped to serve their lunch and joined them in eating a bit too. As with every meal out here, it was nshima (the maize flour), but this time mixed with ground nuts and made in a more liquid texture. It was a lot more palatable than the plain version.

As we were eating, the teachers and Oliver informed us a bit about the school. Through PEPAIDS, it was partnered with a school in the UK who helped to fund its building, resources and the food for the children. Also several of the teachers were working on a voluntary basis, having been trained by SAPEP’s programme. Seeing the children so happy to learn enforced how valuable education can be to people, when it is a life-changing luxury rather than a presumed right.

When we had finished brunch (the first meal of the day for the children, and their only one until dinner), we followed the children to a large field where we started playing some games. After the initial shyness, there was some pushing and shoving over who got to hold our hands when we made the ‘big circle’, especially between the girls. Despite the children’s limited knowledge of English (and our even more limited knowledge of the native language Tonga), we introduced them to some games from our childhood, one of the favourites being ‘Duck Duck Goose’ (which somehow morphed into ‘Dog Dog Juice’ in pronunciation). In a strange way, for me the fact that we did have to use some rather bizarre mime and similar techniques to make the children understand the rules made it even more fun, and completely wiped away any inhibitions which we may have had.

When the children had to go back, I felt oddly emotional saying goodbye to them – although we had barely spoken more than two coherent words between us due to the language barrier, they really were lovely. They crowded round and sang a chant to us before leaving (although we sadly had no idea what it meant), and then I suddenly had several of the smaller children clinging to any part of me they could reach: hands, arms, legs. The older children were a little more restrained, shaking our hands solemnly, and so the smaller children then followed suit – shaking the hand of a tiny child who looked no older than about four years felt almost comical, but at the same time oddly poignant.

trying to say goodbye in Tonga

After the children had dispersed, we were scheduled to interview some of the parents from the village about marriage, especially child marriage, which is one of the issues in SAPEP's focus at the moment. To say the conversation was eye-opening would be an understatement. We sat in the field, with Wilson and Oliver to translate, with several women and two men - the predominant speaker was a middle-aged woman who seemed to command a lot of respect in the village. She explained to us the Zambian system of marriage – that the groom’s family must give money or livestock to the bride’s, as he is perceived to be marrying her and must pay for the privilege. In Zambia, apparently, a woman never marries a man; it is a one-sided system.

It was explained to us that this leads to several problems: not only the obvious one of families effectively selling off their daughters, but also the fact that if the marriage was unhappy and the woman wanted a divorce, her parents would never side with her otherwise they would have to return the cattle given by the groom’s family. When asked how marriage worked in our country, and we said there was usually no payment by the groom’s family, the village women looked puzzled: did this not just lead to more break-ups? This question really made me think – would women in our society be more desperate to stay in their marriage if they knew their family would lose a large portion of their wealth and livelihood should she divorce? Probably so, but to me this seems like emotional blackmail, forcing a woman to stay in an unhappy partnership.

We discovered many cultural differences throughout our conversation – one example was when the women openly admitted that people in Zambia often have children in order to protect their own future, to look after them in old age; this is perhaps true in our country, but certainly to a lesser extent.

On the issue of child marriage, I was somewhat surprised by the woman’s stance. Zambian tradition allows women to marry only after their initiation ceremony at the age of 18, and I presumed that the rise in child marriages would be to do with the parents' desire for money in return for their daughter. However her view was that it was often the girl’s fault – girls were disregarding tradition and becoming more sexually promiscuous from earlier ages, which led to them getting pregnant and being compelled to marry the father of the child as it is the only socially acceptable way to raise a child (not to mention that it is also the only economically viable way).

The conversation ended with both parties being slightly bemused by the other’s way of life – we each had respect for what had been said, but at the same time could not reconcile the other’s views with what we had been brought up to believe in.

On the way back to town, we dropped in to Oliver’s house, a larger variation of the traditional thatched hut, and he kindly fed us with more nshima (a different variety again – this time it had larger lumps of maize mixed in).

Oliver's maize drying out

Oliver's maize store

his house

Oliver's pigs

We then dropped in to Wilson’s, which is in town and is a little more substantial with a corrugated metal roof. When we got back to our room, we were faced with the task of finding our own dinner, and we were craving Western food (the extent of this can only be understood when you have tried living off different varieties of maize for three days). So we walked into town, having seen what looked like a standard European fast food joint. I ordered chicken and chips, Eva chose fish and chips: we thought this was a win-win situation. Unfortunately, nothing ever seems to be that simple in Zambia. The fish and chips arrived, and it was literally a fish with chips. As in, a whole fish, deep fried, with eyes, teeth, fins and all. Eva was not impressed. We called him Paul.

We'll leave you with that delightful picture for today. Have a good evening all.