“No,” I said. “But there is this place called Costco where you can buy Creamy Mash that you might find an acceptable substitute.” But really, there is nothing like sheema but sheema.
My homecoming back at Kamunjoma after three days away couldn’t have been better. “Madam! We missed you!” everyone said as they stopped by to shake my hand. “How was Petauke? How was Chipata?”
The next morning Scott distributed the gloves. Some of the guys had never put on a pair of gloves before and put on two left hand or two right hand gloves. Some didn’t even own a pair of shoes so why should they know how to operate a pair of gloves? Every day after work they locked the gloves away with the wheelbarrow, shovels, and buckets in a storage room. I will never in all my days forget how happy 13 pairs of gloves made them.
Days at Kamunjoma were always filled with lots of interaction with villagers but since we were camped by the school, which was deserted by 5:30, nights were quiet. One afternoon Scott said to the headmistress, “We would love to get to know you and the other teachers better. How about if we arrange to buy a pig so that we can share a meal together?”
“Yes! Let’s do that!” she said. “But,” she added making a face that told us we had made cultural blunder number 23, “we don’t eat pig. When we eat meat we eat chicken or goat.” Our dreams of a Zambian luau vanished. “O.K. Then let’s have a goat and a chicken!” said Scott. The next day to get the ball rolling Scott gave Diana the equivalent of US$20 in Zambian Kwatcha and the live chicken given to him by a headman of the next village. “It’s going to be wonderful!” she said. “The children have been practicing their performances for you and they are very excited. I have already arranged for the goat and my daughters and I will prepare all the food.” Performances?? Scott asked how many people would be there. “Less than 50,” she assured. Scott and I exchanged looks. Fifty? We expressed concern that $20 would not cover the expenses but she assured us it was more than enough. I was also concerned about which goat she had arranged since I had taken quite a liking to a number of them that wondered through our camp every day. I almost said, “Please don’t pick the tawny brown one with the cowlick,” but I knew she would not understand why I would be picky about meat. As they say in Africa, meat is meat.
Next to that was a pot of discarded chicken parts, feathers and all. I can say with authority that chickens are pretty stupid because the ones that were lucky enough to avoid being fare at the fete repeated tried to climb into the pot that held the dead chickens.
Later when I left to help Joyce (mother of eight) fetch more firewood I was laughingly scolded for leaving my pot. Diana saved me. “We are ready to begin the program,” she said and we walked together over to the sandy crossroads near the soccer field that was to be the stage.
“Less than 50” must mean something else in Zambia because there were well over 100 people gathered. Scott and I were seated at school desks arranged for the best view of the stage, a newly swept patch of the sandy road. The teachers were seated at other desks, two by two.
“Here is the program for today,” said Diana with a smile as she handed Scott and me a 14 item hand printed agenda; Opening prayer, Introductions, Poems, Skits, Dramas, Rumba, Speech by Mr. Sky… Closing Remarks.
The introductions were in Nsenga so one of the teachers, Mr. Tembo, sat next to us and translated. Mr. Tembo reminds me so much of my brother Sean. He is so kind and considerate. In fact, a lot of the time here, I feel like Dorothy in Oz because there are a number of people who remind me of someone at home. Washington, the new foreman on the job reminds me of my brother Joe because he is funny and loves to get the crowd going. Manson is the Eric Hagquist of Africa because he is an incredibly decent and nice person. And headmistress Diana reminds of my sister-in-law Cyndy because she moves through her day with such patience and grace. Anyway, the tin man, I mean Mr. Tembo translated the prayer and all the opening remarks. Most of what they said made us feel uncomfortable. At the same time, it made our hearts glad. Everyone just seemed so happy we were there. One of the teacher’s said during his introduction that there hadn’t been a “white man here since 1912” and that us coming to build the bridge made them feel good about themselves and their community. He said, “Before you came, we were nothing. Now we are something.” Can you imagine!
So, I should explain about the dancing. It’s very provocative; especially dances performed during the harvest when bellies are full and everyone is happy. One dance is called “the push-push”. I know some of your kids read these updates so I’ll just say, well, it is a little disturbing to see girls so young doing the push-push. Joyce and other grandmother’s got up to show the young ones how it’s really done. Lots more to tell about the push-push but it will have to wait until later when I see you.
After all the acts were done and practically everyone had gotten up to shake their booty the headmistress said, “Now we will have a few words from Mr. Sky,” and she looked directly at Scott. That’s how we found out that Scott was Mr. Sky on the program. Scott, ever quick on his feet, rose to the occasion and gave one of the best speeches I’ve ever heard because he exactly expressed what was in our hearts. I remember the last part was something like, “Though our time here is short, the time spent with you here at Kamunjoma will remain in our hearts forever.” As corny as it sounds, it’s true.
After the performances and speeches we ate. Believe it or not, one goat, two chickens, some tomatoes and onions, and bucket loads of sheema – all bought for less than $20 – is more than enough to feed over 100 people, at least in Kamunjoma.
Zoe, The B2P country director, returned from her vacation in Italy and drove Candice out to Kamunjoma to manage the project for the week after we left. All the remaining materials needed to complete the bridge– 1500 feet of cable, rebar, more cement, gravel, wood (and more gloves!) – were delivered and Scott presented Washington with the heavily dog-eared bridge manual and his Leatherman, which is useful not only for opening canned corned beef when the aluminum key provided snaps off –as it inevitably will– but also for wiring rebar.
We spent two nights in the Copperbelt. It’s a long drive and the bridge there was having more than it’s share of challenges. Workers ran into solid bedrock within 24 inches of digging the second foundation hole so work had come to a standstill while Zoe was in Italy. It took some time to gather the workers and to track down the man who had the key to the latrine where the tools and cement were stored. After that we had to drive to town to buy sheema and tomatoes because the main concern was not who had the key but would they get lunch that day. I spent most of the time driving Zoe’s Toyota TRD (the pickup like the ones Keith Bramer and my nephew Colin have which Scott lusts after) back and forth from a pile of sand to the bridge site.
Our last two nights in Zambia were spent amongst hippo, lots of hippo, camped at Mukambi Lodge in Kafue National Park. We enjoyed sunrise over the Kafue River and watched lions roar. On a late afternoon game drive we came across a big herd of elephant, porcupines, civets, a bush baby and yet more hippo.
It has been an amazing five months. First hiking the Camino in Spain then two months spent transiting Africa through Egypt, Sudan, Ethiopia, Kenya and Tanzania. We got lots of exercise and met great people. Kamunjoma was best. There’s no place like home, that’s for sure. But Kamunjoma comes close.
Boots, Bedouins, and A Bridge signing off.
Scott and Tris
Mukambi Lodge, Zambia
http://picasaweb.google.com/scottandtris/TheBridgeAtKamunjomaZambia#
