The wonderful world of Lusaka continues to entertain and
injure me. In the past two weeks I have had a fall or two on the uneven
surfaces that pretend to be pavements. One fall resulted in a particularly bad
graze which in true Eldon fashion was self medicated with a few glasses of
wine, cleaned and forgotten about. . . . . until a few days later when it
started to ooze. A swift trip to the doctor, 8 anti-biotics a day and a beauty
of a scar is forming as a permanent reminder of my little trip.
Recent events have also seen another type of little trip,
this time to the sleepy town of Kabwe. Nikki and I set off to see Disco Mike
(DM) and his infamous Kabwe disco house, ‘Life at Forty’. We settle into a less
than comfortable blue bus and two and half hours later and only £4 lighter we
arrive at the big tree, Kawbe’s tourist attraction, other than Mike’s dancing
of course. Within minutes of descending from the bus Nikki has acquired an
admirer in the form of an oddly dressed forty something year old with bad teeth
desperate to know why Nikki would not smoke, whilst blowing smoke in her mouth.
Finally the pale skin of DM is reflecting the sunlight into our eyes and our
hero rescues us from the babble of Nikki’s admirer.
Kabwe is a rather nice town, it reminded me a little of what
I imagine the wild west to be like but with a lot of people selling tomatoes at
the side of the road, a bad smell of meat which had not been refrigerated and a
ridiculously large number of dogs. Some lunch was enjoyed, a tour of DM’s
place, a snooze, dinner and then the real entertainment, a night out in the
Wild West.
We headed to a small strip of bars after a harrowing yet
apparently safe walk through very dark Kabwe. There were some extreme
differences immediately between Lusaka and Kabwe. I was immediately talked to
by some women whilst DM entertained a crowd of men. In fact, as the night
progressed the men got bolder and Nikki and I got some interesting offers but
DM was still surrounded by his male following. DM’s Canadian friend Cluny
joined us and the musungo freak show went on tour around the local watering
holes. At one point I was asked what English language I was speaking, as there are over 73 local
dialects in Zambia, I though this not to strange so explained, just English.
Apparently this was not true and I had to be more specific as my new friend
apparently could not understand what I was saying. Nikki kindly stepped in to
explain we were talking London English which was met with happiness from the
locals especially when we started throwing
out words like ‘apples and pears’ and ‘dog and bone’ mid sentence.
A few beers, some more London English and too many people
squeezed into the back of a car later and we arrive for the big event. DM’s
favourite Zambian venue: Life at Forty. On entering we arrived in what I wish
to describe as a court yard but was in fact an outside space the size of my
Mother’s garden but covered in cement rather than grass with some bars and the
obligatory football being shown. Inside was a small room for dancing and an
education in what you should do with you bum and hips when a song you like is
on. Highlight of the night was the amended version of Alicia Keys, New York
where the DJ kindly hollered ‘Kabwe’ as the concrete jungle were dreams are
made of.
The next morning I awake, delighted at my lack of severe
hangover but desperate for a glass of water until notice that there is a man at
the window doing some DIY. I, not in appropriate attire to jump out of bed with
an audience had to text DM to tactically move the curtains only to find out
from him that the men working on his house are all from the local prison. With
this comforting thought in my head, DM out of the room and the urge for water
increasing I get up dressed and head out to the terrace to enjoy the morning
sunshine, some water, a smoke and the murder of 3 chickens by his neighbours.
Although Kawbe was neither: a concrete jungle or the place
where dreams are made of, a grand old time was had. DM was a perfect host,
Nikki a great companion and the town itself further insight into Zambia outside
of Lusaka. An agonising 4.5 hour blue bus ride home, a numb bottom which may
never recover and extremely sore knees later we arrive back to the world of
inappropriate men and smog.
Great news occurred this week in the knowledge that one of
the more vulnerable disabled children at the orphanage has been adopted. It is
highly unusual as adoption is not easily done here in Zambia but an American
couple who live here have managed to adopt this boy, still allowing him to grow
up in his own culture but in a family home, with lots of love and opportunities
to help him develop. Now all I need is a bigger handbag to smuggle little Joha
out (in case the authorities read this I am sadly joking and will not be
stealing him).
Work has got extremely busy of late. I have been getting
more and more amazed at the very real water and sanitation crisis here in
Zambia. Only 60% of the population have access to safe drinking water and only
49% access to sanitation, and this may not actually be in their homes. 1000
children under the age of 5 years die of diarrhoea diseases alone every year as
a result of this. You get diarrhoea from bad sanitation, you cannot rehydrate
as you have no water and you die from your disease of malnutrition as you
cannot hold down the little food you do have as you have diarrhoea.
Of late I have been doing work on preparing for World Toilet
Day- yes there is such a thing and it happens on 19th November. We
are going to work in two adjoining slums, Kanyama and John Laing and advocate
for the local people, letting them know their rights on the sanitation they can
demand as well as educating them on the dangers of flying toilets and open defecation.
A flying toilet for those of you who are unsure of the term is when some one
defecates in a receptacle such as a carrier bag as they have no toilet and lob
it as far as they can from where they relived themselves or from their house.
This causes huge problems, especially in the rainy season in an area with no
sewage system.
So I have been investigating options and it seems we may
have a partner with an organisation that will provide bio-degradable bags. We
then will work with local women entrepreneurs who will sell them for about 5
euro cents. Each bag can be used once and is then buried for two weeks or
returned to a special station, for which you get a third of your money back.
After this time the pathogens die and the waste can be used as fertiliser on
your personal vegetable patch or if returned to the station is sold as
fertiliser and the money pumped back into the project. This has a particularly
big impact on women and girls who struggle most with the lack of toilets of
having to travel a long distance at night to use one. It is also less expensive
than the public toilets so a win win solution all round, safe sanitation,
employment, fertiliser for crops which feed the family or bring in income and
less chance of being hit round the head with a bag of turd when walking home at
night. Satisfying work.
This time I shall reflect on some research I have been
carrying out into open defecation. The London School of tropical medicine and
hygiene did some research in Sub Saharan Africa on why people in poverty invest
in toilets. Reason number 7 was because they did not want their enemies to
steal their faeces.
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