Dropped Doug off at the airport yesterday. We decided to go out in a poetic bang and called the same taxi driver (Pascal, Doug’s middle name) that picked Doug up exactly one year ago to the day. The last few days at the hut were sad. We made a lot of desserts. (Even attempted to make chocolate from the cocoa beans we smuggled back from Zanzibar!) All the sweets, plus the fact that we both caught some stomach thing from the train, didn’t make our last moments together any easier. I threw a surprise going away party for Doug, inviting the Mumbas, the Mwelewas, Kapiria’s family, the next neighbors, Justin and Brenda, Chulu Kaiyaya, Jameson Kunda and Christabelle, Mr. and Mrs. Chisenga, Mr. Kaseloki, Mr. Mulenga and Mr. Matson. All the women arrived early and helped cook nshima. In fact, they took over the whole thing and I barely did anything! As usual, everyone was horrified and amazed when Doug and I sat down cross-legged, as Zambians are unable to do this. (Just like we’re unable to sit upright without back support for more than a few minutes, but Zambians can do it for hours.) Mr. Mulenga said some nice words about how big our “family” was. Watching Doug say goodbye to the chickens and Finnigan was terrible. Finnigan’s really gonna miss Doug. He loves him dearly. He’s probably on a plane to the States right now, in fact, seeing how he insists on escorting Doug even to the icimbusu.

I’m just still kind of numb. It’s hard to imagine that he’s really gone back to the land of milk and honey. I’m going to stay in Lusaka a day, then maybe stay with another volunteer for a day, and then stay at the Peace Corps House in Serenje for a couple more days to avoid going back to an empty hut and facing reality. These next nine months are going to be excruciatingly difficult, I’m afraid.

Have you all heard about the President Mwanawasa ordeal? Apparently he had a stroke and it's been unconfirmed for awhile now whether he's dead or not. If so, in 90 days there will be a new election. Maybe there will be riots in Mpelembe.

I'm sure my loyal blog reader (aka Bonnibelle) is wondering about the fate of the Professor. He has not returned. The whole thing is inconclusive and probably always will remain shrouded in horrifying mystery. In a sense, it's easier because I can just imagine that he ran away in search of a girlfriend. It's just very strange not knowing what happened and not having closure. Here's all I know -- We investigated and found out that the ruckus the morning of the Professor's disappearance occurred at the headman's house. The story goes that in the middle of the night, his dogs started barking at something in a tree, which he assumed to be an "impaka" that wanted to eat his chickens, so in the morning, he called Kalunga and Victor (bloodthirsty teenage boys next door) to kill it. They pelted it with rocks until it fell from the tree, where their dogs immediately snatched it up and tore it to pieces, eating it, skull and all. We explained that we were concerned because our cat, who goes out every night and comes back every morning like clockwork, failed to come back the same morning the impaka was killed and that we had learned that impaka meant "bush cat." The headman seemed a little distressed, but his wife was one hundred percent certain that the animal killed was not a cat, but an impaka. She motioned with her hands at how large it was. (Which of course was the same size as the Professor. Zambians don't feed their animals so the only pet cats they've ever seen are small.) She also pointed out the marked differences between impakas and cats. Impakas can be solid or striped (unlike our tabby cat, apparently...), have large heads, large eyes, and a nose "like a leopard." Most damning evidence of all in support of the beast's impakaness, was that, as everyone knows, cats are poisonous to dogs, and after eating the impaka, only one of their four dogs died, therefore it must have been an impaka and not a cat.

For the third mysterious animal disappearance lacking closure, another chick has disappeared, bringing us from eight to six. When Doug was drawing water one night, a drunk man approached him and informed him that he would be coming to our home in the morning to take one of our pullets. Doug told him he could not, and he said he was. In the morning, another chick was gone.

Things with the neighbors have been ok. I was so afraid that all contact with them would be cut off after "the intervention." Things were a little quiet at first, but now we're back to greeting and talking with them like normal. It's perfect actually. They're not begging or fighting with us or hanging out on the porch all day, but we can still have a relationship with them. We gave Joshua some seeds and he's starting a garden. And when we gave him a piece of Zanzibar coconut to try, he asked for seeds to plant one because he liked it so much! I'm just in shock and elation. Doug and I have been complaining about how Zambians don't think about the future and think it's silly to plant fruit trees. They could be living in a paradise, but instead of planting more trees, they burn them down. Now I've got this little kid who wants to plant a fruit tree!! (Or nut, I guess?) Doug and I have about ten fruit tree seedlings that I want to plant at some of my schools, so maybe I can teach Joshua about it or try to get more seeds for him to plant.

Doug taught me how to knit. We're using bike spokes as needles. I have this vision for the ultimate knitted piece of clothing, but I won't even mention it here, lest someone out in cyberspace steals my idea. Oh, I'll just tell. I want full length knitted pants. Wouldn't that be awesome?! I have no idea how to do it really, so it'll probably never happen, but I think it's probably the best idea I've ever had.

Peeps let out her first crow. It was quite pathetic. Kind of like the cracking voice of a teenage boy. We were really struggling over what to do with her, because we just didn’t want a rooster. Roosters are horrible creatures. We considered giving her away, but then were afraid she’d immediately have her head chopped off by a zamknife, which would be a horrible fate, as it’d be easier to use a book to cut than one of these knives. We considered eating her ourselves, because then at least we knew she’d be killed humanely, but neither one of us felt capable of killing or eating her. Finally, we gave her to the headman as a gift, with the condition that she was only to be used to make baby chickens and could not be eaten.

We cut down our stalk of bananas several weeks ago, but they are still completely green! After waiting for months and months and months, watering the tree, clearing around it, transplanting the suckers, Doug won’t even get to taste our bananas! (And I’m going to be eating bananas for breakfast lunch and dinner when they finally ripen!)

Since gas prices have gone up, catching transport has become even more difficult. There are less cars driving, and the ones that do go by are often filled up from Mansa by the time they reach Mpelembe. Usually, when starting out around 8:00 am, I’ll get to Serenje by 2:00 in the afternoon. But now it’s even worse, and one time, I was pretty damn sure Doug and I were going to have to sleep on the side of the road with other stranded hitchhikers. It was getting dark and people started making a fire to keep warm. We were only halfway to Serenje. We lucked out and were able to make it, freezing in the open back of a truck late at night. Brrr! And when trying to get to Lusaka this trip, it took us two days instead of one! A nice farmer let us spend the night at his house. He’s trying to start a honey company, so it was really awesome talking to him - and putting gobs of honey in our tea!

I don’t think anyone can know true grief and joy until they try to hitchhike. You’ll sit there for hours and hours with no cars in sight. Or, worse, you’ll see a car coming, your heart will flutter as you start to flag them down, thinking, ”This is it!!!” and then they speed on by, shattering all your hope. Again and again. It’s a terrible process. But, then, when that one car finally stops, and they’re actually going where you’re going, you’ll never know such elation. Suddenly all the torture of the past few hours is instantly erased and you just want to throw dollar bills and candy bars to everyone you see. I imagine it’s like giving birth.

We met this guy from UNICEF who was doing research on Serenje, since apparently it’s the third poorest district in Zambia, with seventy percent of the people living on under $3 a day. He had all sorts of questions and it was really great to meet someone from an NGO who actually seemed to care about what they were doing and who appreciated our grassroots input.

Totally random tidbit – I found Egyptian rosepetal jam in one of the grocery stores in Lusaka! It really is made from rosepetals! It tasted just sicky sweet like any jam, not really rosey at all, but seemed so decadent to eat!

This school term is over. I feel like I did nothing. The whole Life Skills debacle. And all sorts of false leads. People are always coming to me, wanting me to do this or that (beekeeping, sustainable agriculture, agroforestry, life skills, health, income generating activities, etc), but then when I tell them to set a date or come back, they never do. I don’t know if it’s because they find out that I don’t have funding and were only looking for money, or if they just have even shorter attention spans than Americans.

So, I feel like my blog has been really negative the past few months. And maybe even the past few months before that. The problem is, that besides a bunch of stuff going wrong, it’s just easier to report on the bad than the good. New bad things keep happening, but that doesn’t mean that all the good things about Zambia stopped happening. You can only report, “Zambians are so helpful!” a couple of times, because there’s nothing new to update on that. Yes, Zambians are still helpful. So, just for an update on all the positive things that aren’t “new,” I’ll rewrite them now:

I’m happy to be in this place with generally good people who are very friendly and generous and live in a relatively natural and sustainable way. I love laying in my hammock listening to the breeze through the leaves or the sound of someone pounding cassava in the distance. I love cooking over a fire at night. I love my house so much. I love my cat(s) dearly, as well as my chickens. I love having hilarious conversations with Zambians. I love it when Zambians are so shocked and happy that I speak Bemba. I love it when kids screech out, “Muli shani Ba Carrie!!!!!!” as I bike by. I love cooking. I love eating nshima. I love telling Patty to dance and he’ll dance on the spot. I love reading. I love writing. I love the headfamily. I love having a captive audience to push my views on in my Life Skills class. I love building things, especially fences and brick structures. I love the huge sky during the day – blue with perfect burst of clouds. I love it at night with millions of crisp stars. I love how it looks like daylight outside during the full moon. I love not having a 9 to 5 job – waking up when I want, eating when I want, going to the bathroom when I want, reading when I want. I love joking with Doug in Zamlish and Bemba. I love watching my shadow bike next to me in the morning. I love that Zambia is a peaceful place. I love living in nature. I love giving kids a ride on the back of my bike so they can show off to their friends.

Some other things I haven’t mentioned, but will admit to now, is that I, Carrie Pavlik, also had a botfly, but was too ashamed to tell. I also “joined the club” when I had salmonella , but only other Peace Corpsers will understand that.

NOW - THE TRIP TO ZANZIBAR!!!!!!!

It was one of those trips where anything that could possibly go wrong went wrong. It was also one of those trips that was completely worth it despite everything going wrong.

We traveled to Serenje and then walked up and down and around on a back path to the train station to catch the train to Dar Es Salaam, only to find it had been delayed until 3:00 in the morning. Walked back to Peace Corps house, got a couple hours of sleep, and then attempted to re-find the train station in the middle of the night. After walking for an hour through the bush, we came upon some buildings that looked awfully familiar. Turns out we made a huge circle and ended up not very far from where we had started. By this point, it was almost time for the train to leave, so we doubted whether we should even bother. We decided to head back into the bush, getting even more lost, sludging through streams of mud and shimmying across logs over streams.

We arrived 45 minutes late, but luckily the train still hadn’t arrived or left. Thought we were pretty lucky until we found out that they had raised the fares only a day earlier and that they had sold our first class tickets to someone else, putting us in second class. (Main difference is it’s roomier, they get mattresses, blankets, sheets, and pillows, and supposedly they have a toilet instead of just a hole over the tracks. We ended up sleeping on “beds” equivalent to ironing boards and without blankets or pillow.) We also were informed that the cars were segregated by sex, because of course in Zambia, men and women don’t actually like each other and can’t be friends or enjoy each others’ company. (Women don’t want to be annoyed by loud drunk men and men don’t want to be annoyed by crying babies. Where’s that put Doug and me who don’t want to be annoyed by either and want to sit together on our vacation?) The train ride, which I was really looking forward to, was terrible. Freezing when it was cold and muggy when it was hot. Jerky. No water, so absolutely filthy. I had a terrible cold, so was just miserable. Loud Zambians and Tanzanians. (Turns out Tanzanians are even looser with their concept of property. Doug’s cabinmate decided to just up and wear Doug’s shoes when he went to the bar and later took some of our bananas to eat right in front of us!)

As we crossed the border into Tanzania, the immigration officers came on board and told us that our VISAs expired in a couple of days. (When we bought the VISAs, we told them the dates of our trip, but they didn’t give us the right dates.) We were just sick, thinking that as soon as we arrived in Dar, we’d have to turn around and go right back! There was nothing we could do, so we just sat on the train and looked out the window.

The villages and houses are kind of different, but it’s hard to say how. Closer together, bigger houses, more perfectly laid bricks, and more tin roofs instead of thatch. The scenery wasn’t terribly different than Zambia, but there were some beautiful rolling mountains, dried up riverbeds, lush areas, and millions of banana trees. The best was when we drove through a gamepark. At first we just saw skulls, birds nests, and Baobab trees, but then Doug saw an elephant!! I was so jealous, but then a few minutes later we saw a pack of giraffes! And then a pack of zebras! It was unreal. Also saw some vultures and more deery things – puku, gazelle, wildebeests. We decided that even if we had to turn around because of our VISAs, since we got the student discount, our train tickets were cheaper than a safari ever would have been, so it was worth it to see these animals in the wild.

The train continued to lose time as it poked along, and instead of arriving in Dar in the morning, we arrived at 10:00 at night. Lost a whole day!!!!! The next day we walked around Dar trying to find an ATM that would take my card, as we didn’t have enough money for the trip and my card had been denied in Zambia. Finally found one. It was a Tanzanian holiday, so immigration was closed. We still didn’t know our fate! Then we got news that the train had crashed and wouldn’t be running again until the tracks were cleared. Stranded in Tanzania with an expired VISA – oh no, we’re going to get thrown in jail!!! We decided to just take the ferry to Zanzibar, so at least we would see it for a couple of hours even if we had to turn around and come back the next morning to find a bus company to go back to Serenje. I got terribly seasick. A Hassai woman was also seasick. It was very sad to see this magnificent woman with a shaved head, tattoos, huge earrings, and all sorts of bangles throwing up in a plastic bag. Also sad to see them using cell phones.

Once we got to Stonetown in Zanzibar, we again decided that even if we had to go back to Zambia the next day, it had been worth it. Stonetown was just amazing! Zanzibar is mostly Arab influence, as well as Indian and Persian and of course African. It was like we had been transported to the middle east, men wearing long white robes and caps and women with headscarves. Even the little school girl uniforms had headscarves. Stonetown was this amazing section of town consisting of tiny alleyways too small for cars with buildings several stories high only armlenghts apart. Not a place for claustrophobics. It felt like we were lost in some terrible back alley where we weren’t supposed to be, until we realized that this was Stonetown. This crazy labyrinth of streets and buildings. Falling down shambles next to trash pits next to a luxurious spa next to an ancient fort next to a souvenir stand next to an old building with elaborate architecture and brickabracka. So many huge gorgeous elaborate doors covered in brass knobs. Shops will gorgeous fabrics and tapestries, wood boxes with brass hinges, incense burners, bangly jewelry. (It was a good thing we were so rushed, or I would have spent every shilling I had!)

There was an outdoor market at night with all sorts of foods on display. You just picked out what you wanted and they threw it on the fire. Fruits, flatbreads, fish kabobs. Just gorgeous. We decided it was ashame to be on this tropical island and not eat fish, so we broke our vegetarianism again and tried nearly one of everything. I also broke my “I-hate-seafood-ism” and tried fish. Some of it was yucky, like the octopus, some was flavorless, and some was actually really delicious, like the shark and baracuouda. We also drank cup after cup of fresh crushed sugar cane juice! So delicious and refreshing!

Zanzibar has very few dogs, but is filled to the brim with cats! Cats with funny noses! They all must be descended from the same cat that came over on a boat a hundred years ago. The chickens are also very tall and the cows have humps.

The next day, we visited immigration, which was five hundred times nicer than Zambian immigration. They thought our VISAs looked okay, but in case the immigration officers gave us a hard time on the train, they scribbled in that they were valid for another three months. Such a relief!

We immediately rushed off to where a “Spice Tour” was leaving. Again, showed up late, but they hadn’t left yet. We visited several farms where they were growing spices. A guide walked us around and showed us what the various spice plants and trees looked like and broke open the various pods, bark and leaves for us to smell. We saw cardamom (which we now know is closely related to the “wild ginger” we eat in Mpelembe!), ginger, clovers, turmeric, vanilla, chocolate, cinnamon, nutmeg, mace, as well as all sorts of fruits. Kids followed us everywhere, decorate us in rings and necklaces made out of banana leaves, hoping to get a tip. Then we headed for a secluded beach, which everyone seemed to know about except for Doug and I, as they brought their bathing suits. It was gorgeous with big cliffs and palm trees, so finally we just ripped off our clothes and jumped in the water in our underwear.

Outside of Stonetown, it looked more like Zambia with shops and markets. The houses in the villages were made out of crushed coconut shells, coral, and mud, with palm leaves as thatch.

That night, we went to a fancy hotel to listen to live Zanzibar music. It was quite beautiful, men playing harpsichords, violins, bongo drums, guitar, and accordion in these melodies that made it seem like we were in Aladdin or something. Doug and I have talked about “culture” a lot the past year. What culture really is is ideologies, beliefs, sense of etiquette, sense of time, sense of beauty, sense of power, sense of gender, etc, so of course all places have these things. But when you think of culture as language, clothes, music, art, literature, traditions, festivals, food, etc, it is obvious that Zambia is extremely lacking. I feel ethnocentric to write it, but it’s true. There is no art. They eat only one food. Their vocabulary is limited. It was such a change to see Zanzibar. And it will even be a change to go back to the States again, which believe it or not, has a much richer culture than Zambia.

People kept saying, “Hakunah Matata” to us and calling us “Rafiki” which I guess means “friend” in Swahili. It seemed like we were in the Lion King as well as Aladdin. (Doug and I learned some basic Swahili phrases, but it’s amazing how much we take knowing Bemba for granted! It was just so difficult to try to communicate!)

Doug and I realized that Zanzibar really is paradise when we visited the market. Fruit! And none of the fruit was hand size, but HUGE. Bananas as big as your forearm. Grapefruit as big as a basketball. Jackfruit as big as a backpack. Huge soursop, papayas, and mangos. Coconuts. Lychees. Just amazing. We again bought one of everything and feasted on fruit.

The next morning we hopped a minibus to Kendwe beach, several hours away. On the path to the beach, we encountered some Baobabs up close, so Doug finally got to fulfill his life goal of hugging one. By the time we got there, it was late, so we only laid on the beach for about an hour before it was dinnertime. It was touristy and there were a lot of muzungus. It was fabulous to wear a bathing suit and let my knees feel the air again! We also took advantage of all the other culturally-insensitive tourists and held hands in public for the first time in a year and a half.

We heard that another nearby beach had cheaper places to eat, so we decided to walk along the beach until we got there. Turns out that you can’t walk along the beach during high tide. The beach got smaller and smaller until it eventually turned into waves smashing against a rock cliff. Oh no, we’re going to get smashed to pieces against the cliff!! We asked for help and some Tanzanians guided us along the beach-cliff until there was a spot to climb up over it and onto another path. We then trekked for an hour or so in the dark on a windy coral path, having no idea where we were. When we arrived at the other beach, the prices were the same. We ate, then took the terrible trek back.

We stayed in a real hole in the wall there. Basically someone’s house they turned into a small guesthouse. The shower was in the bathroom, water falling right onto the floor. Or the toilet was in the shower, however you want to look at it. It’s amazing how your standards go down. People that might put up with the Hotel Conneaut would never be able to make it in Zambia or Tanzania. If we find a place that has toilet paper, we think we’ve really hit the jackpot!

The next day we signed up to go snorkeling! I got terribly seasick on the boatride and threw up overboard. I think it should be illegal to throw up on vacation. The two hours or snorkeling was great, however - the most rest we’d had in a week! Just floating along looking at the reefs and fish. It was pretty similar to Cancun, except the ocean floor was closer and there was more variety of fish I think. We saw huuuuuge starfish, a sea cucumber, a lionfish, angelfish, a pufferfish, and best of all – don’t be jealous, Stacy – a sea turtle!!!!!!!!!!!! Boy they’re fast, those turtles! It was really great. I wish I was snorkeling right now.

After enjoying our time in Zanzibar very much, we had to head back to Zambia. We went to the dock to catch the ferry back to the mainland, only to find out they had just randomly cancelled the morning ferry! The next one wasn’t for several more hours and we had a train to catch! (Actually we weren’t even sure if the train was running, as we hadn’t been able to get through all week!) We desperately tried to call bus stations to make backup plans, but couldn’t get through. We moped around, again not knowing what was going to happen, and caught the next ferry. We arrived forty minutes late for our train, but thank god for Zamtime and Tanztime – it hadn’t left yet. When we tried to board the train, we found they had messed up our tickets and just kept sending us from person to person. So close but yet so far! I think we pretty much decided in our minds that if the train started moving, we were jumping on no matter what. Luckily, they fit us in even though we technically didn’t have a reservation. Whew! Just when I thought we were homefree, I realized that my bag was dripping. I thought I’d be really clever and fill up a water bottle with that delicious sugar cane juice to drink on the 40 hour train ride. Well, in less than a day, it had rotted, fermented, and exploded all over everything in my bag, including a book I had borrowed form someone. (Pookie, you might have to use my debit card and buy a new one….) It reeked like terrible sour terribleness. Just wretched. All over everything. I then had to put up with Zambians again. They just have totally different concepts of etiquette, which can just be unbearable at times. For example, they think it’s fine to take up the whole cabin with all their stuff, leaving me no place to sit, or to turn on the light in the middle of the night and have a loud conversation for an hour. Ack!!!

Arrived in Serenje and wanted to kiss the ground. Until some guy stopped us and requested our tickets – which some guy had taken from us on the train, saying they were incorrect. We were tired and filthy and still had a walk ahead of us. We just wanted to go and they held us there for ten minutes or so. After arguing for awhile, they finally let us go.

And that was the trip to Zanzibar!

The computer in Serenje died, and now that all my vaccines are done, all of Doug’s immigration is done, and they’ve cancelled my intake’s “in service training,” I’ll have no reason to come to Lusaka again unless I get sick or am dying to buy soysauce. SO, it might be awhile until I blog again. I’m addicted to it, however, so I may have to go back to my ancient method of traveling to Mkushi to use the internet.



Handy Hut How To – How to Catch Transport
Bike to the road. Ask one of the shopkeepers to keep your bike for you while you’re away. Wait for many hours. If you see a car coming, start flagging it down by extending your arm and limply flapping your hand at the wrist. The car may communicate to you by flashing its lights or doing a hand gesture to indicate that they are full, or that they are “just within” the nearby area. Usually, however, they will just pretend not to see you. When the car stops, run up and ask where they are going and if they’ll take you. Assess the bwananess (richness) of the car and person to see if it will be a free ride or not. If not, negotiate a price and hop in! Thank the transport gods.



Vince - Happy Birthday!!

Bonnibelle - Thanks for the wedding pictures!!! It was really exciting to see them.

Dad - I emailed silly sayings to Bonnibelle a couple weeks ago, but forgot to send them to you to give to Cathy also. So ask Bonnibelle to send them to you.

Mom – I thought of another thing I need when you send the underwear. Garlic powder!!

Jamie and Julie – Doug and I were going to give you your souvenir now, when Doug returns, but we were unable to do so, so you’ll just have to wait until I come back!

To anyone who donated to the ghost book fundraiser - Due to the Park’s unopenage, we had to call off the ghost book donation thing, so you’ll be getting a refund check in the mail. Thank you for your support.