06 November 2003
Oh yeah -- happy birthday to me.
05 November 2003
Sorry for the lack of posts lately. I've been going crazy with reporting. I'm working on a story so exciting I won't post about it here! (That's exciting, no?) Unfortunately, it appears I won't be able to get to a few of the stories I had planned -- these weeks have zipped by. Anyway, more photos and deep insights into the Zambian soul to come soon.
03 November 2003
The office of Kenneth Kaunda, Zambia's first president (1964-1991), sits behind cinder block walls and an electric fence on Serval Road, in Lusaka's old colonial-favored Kabulonga neighborhood. It's just a few doors down from the home of Frederick Chiluba, Zambia's second president (1991-2001). From the waist-deep potholes on Serval Road, it's clear that political power drops precipitously when one leaves office in Zambia. It's hard to imagine potholes going unrepaired outside Richard Nixon's house or Bill Clinton's house.
I'm sitting in a taxi with three men. James is the driver; it's his cab. He's the one taxi driver in Lusaka smart enough to realize that Chachacha Backpackers is filled with white tourists who just might want to take a cab somewhere. He's outside Chachacha every morning, and I get the impression he's done well for himself, as Zambian cabbies go.
In the front passenger seat (on the left in Zambia, remember) is Benson, another fellow who's figured out how to profit from Chachacha's denizens. I had asked Benson to get me an appointment with Kaunda (or KK, as he's universally known). Benson and James had been fighting for the entire drive over, and I'm left with the impression that James may have had more to do with getting the appointment than Benson.
With me in the back seat is Sephiwe, a man about my age seeking self-discovery. Sephiwe was born in Lusaka to a Caribbean mother and a South African father. Dad had been a member of the African National Congress; when the apartheid government banned the ANC, it had set up headquarters in free Zambia. Sephiwe now lived, oddly enough, in Dublin and was backpacking around his country of birth. At Chachacha, he'd met Benson, who'd mentioned that I was meeting with KK. He, too, wanted to meet KK, who as one of the most important supporters of the ANC and black nationalism for decades had been something of a hero of his.
Our appointment had been at 6:30, but there was no sign of movement around Kaunda's offices. ("They're working on Zambian time," James lamented.) Benson and James were arguing over something, half in English, half in Nyanja.
Finally, around 7 p.m., a late-model Japanese sedan pulls up. Inside is Sunday Musonda, KK's chief of staff (or that position's equivalent). He tells us that KK will meet us at his residence, not at the office, and that he will drive Sepiwe and me there.
Five minutes later, we're at another electric fence and more cinder block walls, waiting for an armed guard in army fatigues to open the gate. (I'd later learn that Kaunda's residence is government-owned, a perk of past-presidency.) A moment down a winding tree-lined lane and we're at Kaunda's back door.
We walk up to the sliding glass door and I immediately see what Kaunda has chosen to make the first thing visitors see upon arrival: a photo from the 1980s of him dancing with Margaret Thatcher. Thatcher, for her part, is all smiles and seems thrilled. I think for a moment how much more dance-centric the life of a female British prime minister must be than a male's. No one would expect John Major or Tony Blair to dance with Kaunda or Robert Mugabe or Ronald Reagan, after all.
Sephiwe and I are ushered into Kaunda's living room. Its major colors are brown, tan, and white, and the furniture looks like the high end of a Barcalounger dealership -- comfy and leather, even if a certain class of people would find it too proletarian. Sunday apologizes for KK's making us wait while he remains upstairs, in his private quarters. "It's a very bad time -- his excellency is watching the news," he said.
In my mind, I'd debated how to address Kenneth Kaunda. He's certainly the essential man in Zambian history. He led the fight against British colonial government in the '50s and '60s, and done it in a thoroughly admirable way; an admirer of Gandhi's, he advocated nonviolence, and Zambia was born in nearly bloodless fashion. He'd served as president for nearly three decades and was a strong supporter of liberation movements throughout the rest of southern Africa.
Yes, Zambia was poorer when he left office than when he arrived. And yes, he did have autocratic tendencies (most notably banning all opposition parties in the early 1970s), and yes, his choice of friends could be questioned (Saddam Hussein and Tito most prominently). But no one called him a kleptocrat, and he had always been an opponent of divisive attitudes among races or tribes. The fact that Zambia's 70-plus tribes get along fine and the fact that anti-white attitudes are rare are both credits to his legacy.
And when public pressure mounted for a return to multi-party politics, he voluntarily legalized the opposition and held elections considered free and honest. When he lost to Chiluba in 1991, he stepped aside with no fuss. He hadn't caused trouble (Chiluba claimed he was involved in a coup attempt in 1997, but no one I've met believes it). And now he had devoted his waning years to fighting AIDS, an issue few African heads of state are willing to broach openly. I find all that admirable.
But I wasn't sure what to call him. "Mr. President," following the American model? "Dr. Kaunda" (he's received countless honorary doctorates)? Was "KK" too familiar? And now Sunday was calling him "His Excellency." I wasn't sure what to make of that.
In any event, the news on ZNBC finally ended, and Kaunda came downstairs. He was dressed in black pants, a black polo shirt (with an embroidered red AIDS ribbon pinned on), and brown slippers of the style old men have earned the right to wear around the house. "Hello, my young friends!" he called out. I shook his hand, told him it was a pleasure to meet him, and thanked him for making time in his schedule for me. When the exchange was over, I realized I hadn't called him anything - not Mr. President, not KK, nothing. Conflict avoided.
We sat down in those big leather chairs and began the interview. Kaunda has the freedom that seems to only come to politicians when they retire: the liberty to say exactly what you mean and the authority to be taken seriously. As a result, he was an excellent interview subject -- blunt, honest, and forthright.
I asked him mostly about AIDS, since that's my main subject and his main interest these days. He says a man in his position has to remain optimistic, but he doesn't sound it. "I don't think we have a future in education," he said at one point when I asked about the masses of dead teachers the disease has left behind. "Zambia has no future in education.")
AIDS is a personal issue to KK. In 1986, his son Masuzyo died of AIDS. In a move that seems courageous compared with the shameful silence of many African leaders, he talked openly about the disease. " Soon after the burial, I talked to Mrs. Kaunda, and said 'We must make this public,'" he said. "I held a press conference at State House and said what had happened. I began a campaign from that time." Some church leaders attacked him for promoting condom use, but "I told them, 'Look, those who don't do what I say, they'll be dead soon!'"
It's sad that in a country where 20 percent of adults are HIV positive, Masuzyo is still the closest thing to a Zambian celebrity to openly die of AIDS. The stigma is still so strong that the death of prominent 30-somethings is still blamed on "long-term illness." "There's a lot of shame attached to STDs in this country," Kaunda said. "I wanted to talk about my son because no one could shame me. Nothing could happen to make me shut up."
Kaunda is 79, and while he certainly still has his wits about him, he did seem to be moving a bit slowly. But he held in one hand a white handkerchief, and whenever an insect would buzz around his head, he'd whip that handkerchief at it with the force and speed of a teenager.
After an hour or so, I asked my last question. Kaunda had to get up early the next morning to fly back to Boston (where he's currently doing a term as Balfour African President in Residence at Boston U.), and I didn't want to keep him too long. He chatted for a few minutes with Sephiwe, then we readied to leave. Before we could go, though, Kaunda wanted to sing me a song. He'd been famous in colonial days for bicycling around the country with a guitar on his back, singing songs of freedom to rouse feelings of independence in the locals. He's taken one of those songs and changed up the lyrics; now the last two lines are:
We shall fight and conquer, in the name of great Africa,
We will fight and conquer AIDS.
02 November 2003
For those of you itching to see more gorge jumping, I present another video (5 MB). This one is of some random Australian guy doing the backwards-fall jump. Freaky.
(I apologize in advance for my having filmed the jump with my camera turned 90 degrees. I thought I could easily fix it to make it right-side-up, but I haven't a clue how. So get ready to turn your head a bit.)
When I posted about wacky stories in the Zambia Daily Mail last week, I knew the temptation would be strong to do it again. There's so much fun stuff in these papers, most of it unintentionally so.
Take the front page of today's Post, for instance. The Post, as the only daily not owned by the government, styles itself as the independent, investigative voice of Zambia. "The paper that digs deeper," they call themselves. There may be some truth to that, but after three weeks of reading it, I can also say it's the paper with the dirty mind.
It's the one most likely to write about sex. It's the only one (so far) to feature topless teenaged girls on its front page. It's the one that plays up child sexual abuse stories more than the others.
(Aside: One of the Post's most notable recent front-page headlines came on a story where Zambia's First Lady, Maureen Mwanawasa, said child abusers should be dealt with much more harshly. "Castrate Child Defilers, Urges Maureen" was the banner headline. The only problem was that the defiler Maureen and the Post were, on that day, all worked up over was a 29-year-old mother who has molested her 7-year-old son because a witch doctor had told her doing so would save her marriage. I don't think castrating her would have done much good.)
Anyway, today's lead story in the Post carries this huge block-letter headline:
ENJOY YOUR WIVES NOW
...there'll be no marriage after resurrection, advises Rev. Chileshe
The rev in this case is one Lawrence Chileshe of the Lusaka Pentecostal Assemblies of God. The headline fairly summarizes his message: Men, have as much sex with your wives as possible, because nobody gets play in heaven. Women, serve your men sexually as much as possible.
The relevant quotes: "After resurrection, a woman will be like a holy sister and you can't even touch her breasts."
And: "Women in Zambia must wake up from their sleep and learn to entertain their husbands at home for fear of losing them to other women who are not married."
And let's not even talk about the Post's health advice column, written by "Dr. M." Lots of letters from men worrying that their "manhood" is too "slim." In today's column, under the heading "I've an itching sensation inside my thighs," R.B. of Lusaka writes that he's having trouble getting his girlfriend interested in sex. "I am confused about this girl. I would want to 'have' her, you know? What is the best way to do it?"
But I'm not typing this entry just to titillate you with sex talk -- no, dear reader. I'm here to share with you one of my very favorite pieces of recent writing, one that I am willing to violate all Zambian copyright laws to bring you. It's from the "Kids Corner" page in today's Mail, it's by a gentleman named Alfred Mumba, and it's genius. The headline:
HOW HUSKY THE HARE BEAT UWI THE HYENA TO MARRY PRETTY KARINA
The story, unedited (meaning grammar errors are Alfred's, not mine) and in its entirety:
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One summer morning, Husky the hare and his old friend Uwi the hungry hyena took a long walk in the wild country. It was a very hot day that the hare couldn't stand the heat on the ground. Instead he got a lift on Uwi's back.
"Gosh! It is really hot today," said the hare.
Uwi stared back at his friend. He yawned, stretched his legs and said: "How I wish it could rain today so that I can have a bath!"
"Me too..." said the hare, wearily.
After walking for many miles, the two creatures met a very beautiful girl. Her name, she told them, was Karina. She lived in the human kingdom where Uwi once lost one of his legs.
"But what are you doing all alone in the bush?," asked Husky.
"I'm looking for firewood. But I can't find any," said the girl sadly.
"That's no big deal," said Husky. "My friend and I would help you find the firewood. But in return we would need some water."
"Yes, we need water," said Uwi the hyena. "We haven't washed for almost a year now" -- the girl promised the two creatures to wash their dirty bodies if they helped her ffind firewood. She invited them back to the human kingdom. At first Uwi refused. But after Karina promised that no one would hurt him, he changed his mind.
At the village, Karina's family welcomed them. They thanked the two creatures for helping their daughter find enough firewood.
"If you don't mind," said Karina's father, "you can move in this kingdom. I will be giving you enough food to eat and water to wash in every day."
Husky and Uwi couldn't believe it. Husky turned to his friend and said: "Humans are friendly. If we stay with them for a long time, we could grow fat." Hearing this Uwi agreed. Together, they two promised the girl's parents that they would behave well whilst living with humans.
"Good," said Karina's father. "Now, whoever behaves well and works hard in the fields will marry my daughter Karina!" -- the creatures were more interested to hear this. That afternoon they started showing off their behaviour and prowess to Karina's father if one of them was to be blessed with Karina, the most beautiful girl in the village.
The hare said he was good at ploughing and feeding chickens. Uwi said he was good at eating, telling Karina's father that he could eat six big pots of nshima with mashed potatoes.
So when the time to be given the tasks came, Husky was directed to the fields and chicken houses. There he fed the chickens twice a day. In the field he ploughed and planted crops.
Uwi was directed to the kitchen. There he ate whatever the women cooked. In an hour, he ate pumpkins, watermelons, sweet potatoes, bananas and a lot of nshima. He ate in view of Karina's father so that he could see that he was a great eater. But Husky was against his friend.
"Eating is not a good idea to have you marry Karina," said the hare one day.
"You are jealous, eh?" said the hyena.
"No, I'm not jealous," Husky said, "I'm just concerned because no woman can love a man for eating too much."
The hyena looked at his friend and started singing: "Husky is jealous, Husky is jealous, Husky is jealous."
But Husky insisted that he was not jealous. What he was trying to put down on his friend was that too much eating could be unhealthy and sometimes embarrassing. But Uwi didn't listen.
So the day to select who had behaved well and worked very hard finally came. It was also the day of the wedding. A lot of food was prepared. Since that time, Uwi had never gone far from the food. Now and again you would see him chewing and drinking something. He wanted to show Karina's father that he was the man capable of marrying his daughter.
Before the selection, however, rumour had spread all over the village that the hare had won, and that he would marry Karina. Uwi was not happy. He approached Husky in the fields and hit him with a stick on the head. Husky fainted. Uwi dragged him in the bush and tied him so tight that it wasn't easy for anyone to untie him.
At the selection and wedding ceremony the hare was nowhere to be seen, not even when Karina's father called him to take his daughter as a wife.
"Where is he?" asked the man, looking at Uwi the hungry hyena.
"I don't know, sir," he said. "In fact one can never tell where the hare hides when he is unwilling to marry."
Reading the time with the sun, Uwi said, "by now he should be back in the animal kingdom."
Karina's father had no option but to give his daughter to Uwi. But during the wedding ceremony, Uwi developed a stomachache. He moved very slowly to the altar where Karina's father was to pronounce him husband to his daughter.
Just when he was to receive Karina's hand, smelly excreta ran down his legs. People started to laugh. Uwi the hyena couldn't take it any more. Looking this way and that, he scampered to the bush, and headed back to the animal world.
There word reached him that Husky the hare finally married Karina, and that the couple would soon visit the animal world. This was after a village farmer found the hare and untied from from the tree.
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Is that not the best story of all time? So much to work with! So many questions! Such as: Why was Karina's dad so anxious to marry her off to an animal? Was bestiality a status thing in his culture? When "Karina's father had no option but to give his daughter to Uwi," were there no, I don't know, humans around to serve as an alternative? Why don't we ever find out how Uwi lost his leg to the evil humans? Who in their right mind thinks competitive eating is the path to a girl's heart? If they hadn't seen water in ages, why were Husky and Uwi so anxious to get washed up and evidently not at all concerned about dying from thirst? How close could Uwi and Husky been if Uwi was so quick to club his bunny buddy over the head? And the "smelly excreta" -- we won't go there.
The story's even better in the print edition, because it's accompanied by photos of a real-life bunny and a real-life hyena. The caption: "Uwi the hyena (right) could not help living in the human kingdom after failing to contain his excreta and emptied his bowels in public. Husky the hare eventually married Karina."
