Doubt

Today I'm sitting at the dining room table in the house where I live in Lilongwe. I'm drinking fancy peach tea I bought in the UK and listening to Adele on my laptop. I have a meeting across town in 90 minutes with field staff visiting from Mchjinji District in western Malawi. I have just enough time to finish typing summary notes from my meeting last Thursday with the Lilongwe District Water Officer. Excellent!

To my right is a large picture window that looks out over the backyard. I see Lucia, our 18 year old maid sweeping leaves and dried grass into piles for eventual disposal in the rubbish pit. A golf ball slowly lodges itself in my throat. My stomach feels itchy. My eyes well up a bit. I stare blankly at my computer screen for a couple minutes; at the notes I've started writing. I look back to Lucia. Wearing the same black skirt and blue fleece vest she wears every day. With a pregnant tummy that grows by the week. I see her all the time. I don't know why in this particular instance my questions start rising up like balloons.

Is she happy?

Is she worried about having a baby?

What would she have wanted to do if she wasn't illiterate, expecting, and our maid?

Does she ever wonder why I am me, and she is her?

I finally get to the questions I was trying extra hard to avoid.

Does that meeting with the Lilongwe Water Officer really matter?

Does the work I'm here doing really matter?

I sit quietly for a few minutes and let the questions float back down. Gradually, my pulse stops pounding in my ears. The golf ball dissolves. My eyes can focus again on my computer screen.

Because I think the work I’m doing really could make a difference.

But I keep on asking myself questions that are hard to answer.

What change am I influencing here?

How is this change benefiting people?

If Lucia asked me to explain my work to her, would she honestly approve?

It can be really tough working here while walking such a fine line between conviction and doubt. It wears on you to question your relevance so regularly. I can’t seem to shake my doubt – but, I think this actually might be a good thing.

My doubt constantly proofreads my choices. It gives me a check mark of motivation when, after deliberation, I confirm I’m still going in the right direction. It draws a big red circle around my blind spots; times when I let my ego get the best of me. I think my doubt keeps me honest with myself, and with the people I’m here working for.

Holy Crap!

Excuse me, sir…pardon me, thank you…can I just get past you there…thanks… sorry sorry…I’m trying to get off the bus…thanks…excuse me…I’m sorry, can I just get past you?...excuse me…

This continues for another 5 minutes or so as I painstakingly make my way up the crowded bus aisle, full of extra passengers and luggage.

I finally descend the steps onto the pavement and sprint along the front of the market shops that line the bus stop. At the last building I round the corner and screech to a halt, frozen in horror.

The latrine I saw from the bus window – that glorious mud-bricked outhouse – my salvation – is padlocked shut.

Ok, Ashley.

Don’t panic.

And whatever you do, don’t crap your pants.

My eyes dart around seeking a replacement refuge. All I discover is a tree and good sized patch of long(ish) grass, growing on the downward slope behind the busy market shops.

For the old Ashley, this sole option would’ve heightened my terror. To the Zambian version of myself, it looked like heaven.

I quickly run there, trying not to slip in the damp grass. I fumble with my three bottom layers (pyjama pants, skirt, chitenge wrap cloth), and curse the morning’s cold wet weather that had me bundle up in advance of such a diarrheal emergency. Before I’m ready to squat, another bus passenger comes around the corner and makes his way down the slope in search of his own private relief. I presume he’s en route for the less taboo and embarrassing task of urinating. I bemoan his luck, and my loss of privacy.

I pause the clothes-fussing, and shuffle as discreetly as possible to a (marginally) less noticeable position on the slope.

...some time elapses…

The bus gives its 8th departure-warnging honk as I speed walk back to the pavement. Arms reach out through the windows offering kwacha notes, and I notice all the tomato, mango and cassava sellers I must have blown blindly past on my way off the bus. At the entrance, I climb back up the steps, and begin the task of heading back down the aisle.

Excuse me…sorry sir, just heading back to my seat…thank you…yes, I’m back…thank you again…excuse me…thank you…

I squeeze in front a Grandma and granddaughter that have been my seatmates since leaving Nchelenge at 5 am. I sink into my window seat with a very DEEP sigh of relief.

Peace of mind is never quite so tangible as when you very nearly shit your pants.

Crisis averted, I feel free to analyze why I got so disastrously and inconveniently ill on the bus. Was it something I ate? The water I drank? I run through the various (un)hygienic conditions of my previous day in the village and end up laughing. I give up.

It's hard to know how I came into contact with diarrhoea-causing badness, and harder still to know how I could've prevented it.

Back in Canada, I took a lot of things for granted. Ubiquitous access to toilets is something I developed a new appreciation for today, via a near serious blow to my dignity.

Having whole groups of people use a system where their Number Twos are separated from their environment is also a very positive thing for community health. Canadian sewage and water treatment systems provide us with effective barriers against most of the risky pathways in the above diagram.

Here in Zambia, however, my “open defecation” behind the bus market shops is not an anomaly. Billions of people in the developing world don’t have a toilet or latrine at their home that they use.

UNICEF reports that in Zambia, almost 1 out of 5 children don’t make it to their fifth birthday, and diarrhoea is one of the leading causes. The British Medical Journal reported sanitation as the most important medical advance since 1840, ahead of antibiotics and anaesthesia. Life expectancies in North America have almost doubled since that time, largely because of improved sewerage and sanitation measures.

How might the slow uptake of poop management in Zambia be explained?

I hypothesize a couple contributing factors:

Many international development projects are working to increase the construction and use of sanitation facilities. In rural areas, where coverage is lowest and open defecation can be commonplace; latrines are promoted to reduce the spread of faecal bacteria, and thus the incidence of diarrhoea.

Unfortunately, many projects fail to secure the participation, buy-in and sustained adoption of latrines by the targeted communities.

We want to increase the success of these projects so that we achieve the ultimate goal of healthier people and lower mortality. So, what about factors (1) and (2) do outsiders need to consider when designing a project to cause improvements in a community’s sanitation situation?

In a future post I will discuss sanitation projects that use CLTS – Community Led Total Sanitation. This unconventional approach has enabled outsiders to successfully confront the taboos and complexity surrounding poop management and diarrhoeal disease. I’ll discuss its potential (and constraints!) for making sanitation gains in rural development, and contrast it with more traditional sanitation project approaches.

Do you eat the eyes?

My dad visited me in Zambia between August 26 and September 11 of this year. He wrote this post on his experience to share another perspective with you on life here.
...............................................................................

There are many things to write about when I think of my trip to Zambia to visit my daughter. I would like to describe to you the impressions I formed of a far away country. Of a people that have an arduous life and the strength of character to eke out a living for themselves, their families and still have room in their hearts for charity towards those less fortunate.

My trip began in Detroit with a flight to Washington D.C. to connect to a 16 hour flight to South Africa, and another 2 hour flight to Lusaka, Zambia. I might not have rejoiced in deplaning if I had known there lay ahead another 12 hours in a crowded bus to reach the provincial capital of Mansa with one bathroom break.

Wherever the bus stopped to let people off or pick up new passengers, even at 4am children and adults would swarm the sides of the bus selling their wares. Food, phone cards, fish and many other things were offered through the bus windows at this early hour as people tried to earn a living. We are not talking about a lucrative thriving business but a survival level income.

The vendors on our bus north of Mansa, selling lemons and honey.

The next day we explored Mansa. It is not exactly a big city, but it had a market. All those clothes you donate that are not sold in Canada end up here! Sacks of shoes, hats, dresses, skirts and our other cast offs become valuable trade in Africa. People earn a living this way. No RRSPs or pensions here!

Our next destination was rural Milenge, where Ashley works directly with WaterAid’s project. We took a 5 p.m. pickup truck a day after arriving in Mansa. This 70 km, 5 hour trip is definitely one of the highlights of my experience. Picture this… a 20 year old, small size pickup dropping villagers at their homes in Milenge and beyond. Jugs of cooking oil, chickens, groceries, my 2 huge hockey bags of stuff for Ashley, 23 passengers (That’s not a misprint, 23 people), and 2 fifty gallon drums of fermenting beer. To get out of the market, several passengers had to push start it and jump on. When we came to the speed bumps in town these men jumped off again to prevent us from bottoming out too badly as we rolled over them. Even the locals in Mansa were laughing at us. We were dropped off at Ashley’s small project office in total darkness. There is no electricity there. Out of the dark, two young girls came and greeted Ashley warmly as they proceeded to help us with the luggage. As I mentioned, our luggage included two huge hockey bags, which the girls began reaching for. I tried to say I would take them because they were so heavy. Not understanding English, the girls each grabbed a bag, tossed them on top of their heads, and walked off towards the house with no hands!!! Did I ever feel silly.

The next morning we rode Ashley’s motorcycle 3 km to her home in Spoon Village. I think you have met the Mwape family. I was immediately at ease with Samson and Catherine. Warm hearts that spoke volumes of their care for their family (including Ashley) was evident.

Out at the farm. Samson is standing and Catherine is in the foreground. Two of their sons (Moses, 12 and Nkandu, 8) and a neighbour are helping them peel the bark off the cassava root after harvesting.

Samson is a progressive villager. While they have a large amount of land to work, they do it all with homemade hoes (carved handles, hammered shovel blades). There’s no John Deer tractor here! Samson grows peanuts, cassava root, corn, beans, and veggies. He has even tried popcorn. Samson also sits on a number of village committees to improve the clinic and food supplies, and he is an elder in his church. You should hear their congregation sing!

The church - Lwela congregration of CMML (Christian Mission in Many Lands).

I have never felt the presence of God’s spirit as tangibly as I did in the service there. It was like a breath of fresh air. After church on Sunday, I was welcomed by everyone as they came out the door after me and shook my hand, and then joined the end of the line until everyone had shaken every one else’s hand. I thought I had the Zambian handshake down pat. This included giving a Canadian handshake, and then a transition into a shake that is higher (like arm-wrestling), while putting your other hand on your own arm above your elbow as a sign of respect. I was mortified to learn much later that I was getting it wrong. I greeted all those people including the church elders with something more akin to a handshake from da hood. Oh well! I’ve learned a long time ago to laugh at myself.

We stayed with the Mwape’s for four days, and took our leave early morning on a pickup that only took 2 hours. No breakdowns! In Mansa we treated ourselves to Italian food at Anna Maria’s Paradice (that’s how it’s spelled) Restaurant. What a treat after a steady diet of nshima and small fishy fishes.

Anna Maria's Italian Paradice Restaurant in Mansa (Luapula Province)

The next day we took a 6 hour bus ride north to Nchelenge to visit Ashley’s other family, where she is working on the Self Supply project with DAPP.

The land along the road was barren, as the trees are chopped down to make charcoal to sell for cooking fires. There don’t seem to be any reforestation programs here, and I saw very little wildlife. But people have to do this to survive. We drive past failed projects from other aid organizations. Latrines were built at houses along the road atop huge cement pads. I think when the latrine became full they couldn’t be relocated due to their size, because they were collapsed into the holes beneath.

We arrived in the afternoon and were greeted warmly once again, this time by Beauty and Patrick. Their home in Kaseka Village overlooks a large lake, which is a great source of sustenance for people the area. I offered to buy food for dinner so Patrick led me down through the town past Ashley’s office to where the fishing boats bring in their catch.

Patrick walked down the beach past table of vegetables and fish covered in flies and headed straight for a lady with 2 big fish in a basket. They appear to have been laying there for more time than I’d like to think about. Off to the side, in the sand, was a third large fish that looks like as though it’d been on the beach at Point Pelee for a month. Patrick raised his voice and I thought he was berating them for throwing out this fish so close to the sales area. It turns out they were negotiating and we bought all three! We took the fish home, fried them in palm oil, and because I’m the honoured guest, I get the head! I begin by peeling off the meat from the bottom side up to the lips – yum. This continued until all that was left was the forehead and eyes. Have you ever heard the expression if you don’t want to know the answer, don’t ask the question? Silly me! “Do you eat the eyes?” I asked Patrick. “Why yes,” was his reply. I did, but don’t ask me what they tasted like as I didn’t exactly let them sit on my taste buds for long. Oh for Anna Marria’s Paradice!

Fish for sale in on Lake Mweru. Ours were at the end of the line.

After a short visit and a bit of work, we hopped on a bus, and Ashley’s vacation began.

Six hours south to Mansa – 12 hours more down to Lusaka – and another 6 hours south west to Livingston brought us to Victoria Falls.

A bit like Greyhound!

We were seeing Victoria Falls in the dry season and could actually walk across the top. Our journey to a swimming pool at the edge of the falls was cut short, when I slipped and cut my foot.

Ashley and I in front of Victoria Falls. You can see people walking across them in the background - where we hiked after seeing them from here.

So we did some souvenir shopping then cruised the Zambezi River at sunset. This area is stunning and worth the visit if you come to southern Africa.

Before the sun set, we saw hippos and elephants bathing.

Our next destination was Siavonga (9 h of bus + hitchhiking). Here we stayed with a wonderful couple who run a property on Lake Kariba, which was created for a great hydro electric dam.

After two days of relaxing, Morris the owner was going to the Lusaka and we rode back with him. We ate dinner at Mahak, an excellent Indian restaurant with a few other EWB volunteers (Trevor, Hans, Mark, and Thulasy). We were sitting outside on the patio having drinks before dinner when a car on the adjacent highway was cut off. It hurtled through the gates of the restaurant, clipping the columns and careening into Mark’s boss’ 4x4. The car came to rest 15 feet from us against 10 inch curb, tangled in a hedge. I’m happy to report our table scattered without spilling a drop. Shortly after the food arrived, and it was delicious.

Visiting Ashley in Zambia was an experience of a lifetime and a real eye opener for me. When I hear people at home in Canada complaining about food, clothes or how hard they work, I flash back to this trip. I have to say that I have learned to appreciate all I have much more than in the past.

Role Model: Qu’est-ce que c’est?

Last post, I told you that what keeps me here is loving a whole lot of people. Different kinds of people. Who, each in their own way, inspire me to work harder to become my better self. Today I wanted to introduce you to a few of them, and share some of my warm fuzzies and motivation for continuing my work with EWB in Zambia and Malawi.

Catherine

It’s 7:16am. I’m in Lusaka, laying in bed with my laptop, and willing myself to open and analyze an excel database for WaterAid’s most recent research survey. But instead of doing so, I’m procrastinating by writing this post (not necessarily a bad thing!).

In contrast, my host mum, Catherine Chola Mwape, is 800 km north in Luapula Province. She has already been out at her farm for 2 hours. While I’m comfortably diddling on the computer, Catherine is swinging her hoe into the soil over and over. She is preparing the ground for planting peanuts before the rains come in December. Catherine will continue sweating with a smile for another 6 hours, and then walk to Lwela Basic School for her daily 2-hour Grade Six class. She’s a 43 year old mother of 8 (children) + 2 (niece and nephew) + 1 (me!) = 11. She loves us all unconditionally.

Catherine is my role model for being present to the people you’re with. She works tirelessly to keep her family moving forward. Catherine demonstrates to me what it means to open your heart and live generously.

Me “helping” Catherine one morning before work.

Chris

For the last 6 months, I worked directly with Christopher Mulenga to implement WaterAid’s Self Supply pilot project and document their research on this new approach.

Chris has a particular set of values about how the development of his country ought to take place. Through him, I’ve been able to internalize more deeply the principle of putting project decision-making power square in the hands of the community you are trying to help. It seems intuitive, right? To let people make decisions that impact their own lives? Unfortunately project after project seems unable to do this in practice. Chris on the other hand, has sharp instincts for doing it effectively. He seizes every opportunity he sees to empower our partners, and to build their confidence and abilities through the project.

A brilliant guy, Chris’ humble approach reminds me how few absolute answers any of us actually have. His passion for learning through every experience encourages me to make myself present to all my opportunities for growing. Chris demonstrates to me the value of patience and temperance for strengthening relationships.

Chris with his wife Brenda and son Kaoma in Milenge District, where we implement Self Supply.

Thulasy

In August ’07 Thulasy Balasubramaniam began an overseas volunteer placement with EWB in Zambia. In February ’08 she began to inspire me through it.

Have you ever met one of those people where you know them for about 5 seconds before you’re convinced that they’re 100% goodness? I firmly believe that anyone who has met Thulasy would say that about her. Thulasy excels at balancing incredible impact on her placements with CARE and IDE Zambia, and being the glue that holds our EWB team together. On top of all this (wait, there’s more?), she plays the role of helping EWB volunteers in Southern Africa stay connected with their friends, family, and other EWB’rs back in Canada. It’s not always easy for us to articulate our learning, experiences, and emotions in a way that you’d find relevant or accessible. Thulasy coaches us through this dynamic to help us strengthen our relationships with you while we’re overseas.

Thulasy is my role model for finding paths to goodness in complicated and challenging situations. She has helped me internalize the value of being honest with myself, and the people I love. Thulasy lives her passion every day, and inspires me to do the same.

Thulasy and I, playing in the rain at Victoria Falls.

La fin

I could’ve written about a dozen more Thulasies, 8 more Chris’, and at least 673 more Catherines. I hope getting to know these 3 people from my Zambian life has you feeling a bit warm and fuzzy inside.

Maybe it has you asking yourself, “How do the people in my life inspire me to be a better version of myself? Could I be one of those people?” Or…maybe you’re just thinking, “Zambia sure put Ashley in touch with her emotional side!”

Either way, I hope you’re smiling.

ZambianAsh –> MalawianAsh ?

I've been volunteering for Engineers Without Borders (EWB) Canada for 10 months now, under a contract that extends 4 more months. My current work has me living in Zambia, facilitating research for UNICEF and WaterAid Zambia on a pilot project they're conducting to test a new approach to clean water provision. Just before Christmas I'm coming home to Canada for a month, and then returning to Southern Africa to transition into a new role with EWB in Malawi until at least early 2010.

Are you thinking...

"2010? That's so far-away! Are you sure it's worth your time, Ashley? Are you sure there's not a better way for you to get an experience like this and contribute to positive change?"

This year's experience has informed me quite definitively that there is no place I ought to be next year other than here; in Southern Africa; with EWB. Our team plays a unique role to help development organizations and institutions optimize their projects for maximum impact. I feel so blessed to have found a niche here contributing to positive change, and in an environment that has me out of my comfort zone and growing in 27 different ways. I love the people I'm working for here: old and young, rural and urban, viable and vulnerable. Right now, EWB is offering me the best opportunity to build an international development sector that respects and serves them better.

I want to thank each one of you back home who supported me so wonderfully before I came, and while I've lived here. Your emails, phone calls, blog comments, donations to EWB, and supportive attitudes are a big part of keeping me happy, productive and on-course. The work we're doing is not easy -- if it was it would've been done already. Thank you for investing in my happiness over the long term. I hope I can offer you the same in return.

Before I came to Zambia in February, you helped me raise over $3000 towards the cost of my volunteer placement (20%). EWB was blown away by your faith and generosity, which was 6X the $500 they requested of me. I was completely overwhelmed by your love and belief in me – so happy you want to bring us closer to creating the kind of world we dream about.

At first, I felt a bit relieved that EWB won't be asking me to fundraise again to support my 1-2 year placement extension. But, then I got to thinking. That's not a fair approach for me to take – one that cuts you out of our work and our impact. So I decided that I want to extend to you an invitation to continue being part of our vision and our impact. Please consider making a (tax-deductible) donation to EWB within the next couple months. It could make a nice Christmas gift for someone you love! (Hint hint Dad: I don't need new pyjamas)

If this invitation is one you would like to accept, please contact me at ashleyraeside@ewb.ca, and I will help you make arrangements to donate (on-line, by mail, or in-person when I get home in December). If now is not a good time for you, please don't stress. There are many ways you support me that are equally important. Thank you for taking time to engage with me and EWB on this.
..............................................................................................................

I'm really excited to come home for a month and re-connect with as many of you as possible. I'll likely give a presentation at the University of Windsor (and possibly also UWO and Guelph) while I'm home. I'll be sure to keep you informed in case you're interested in discussing my experience-to-date.

Again, MERCI BEAUCOUP for everything.

Love, Ashley

Saturday Afternoon

I turn to my left, and kick the football to Boyd (9), who stands across from me in our passing circle. Boyd passes to Moses (12). Moses passes to Nkandu (8).

I live here with the Mwape Family, in Milenge District.

Under the orange trees my host-mom, Catherine Mwape sits with my sisters Agi (14), Media (16), and Maureen (23). They are cutting up rape, the green leafy vegetable that will be cooked for lunch. I think they’re enjoying the slower pace after spending 6 a.m. to noon at the farm digging up cassava.

Catherine’s husband, Samson sits over by the mango tree, beside my Dad, who’s visiting from Canada for the week. In Samson’s lap rests the bible he was awarded when he graduated from Samfya Bible College. Despite Bemba-English communication difficulties, the two are deep in conversation over a New Testament passage.

Mbuya [grandma] enters the yard carrying her braiser. She wants coals from our wood fire to light her little cooking stove. An errant pass from the Mwape’s eighth-and-last-born child, Ruthie (6), bounces to a stop at her feet. Mbuya (73) winds up her small canvas-shoed foot, and knocks the football back across the circle to Boyd. Ruthie jumps up and down clapping and cheering, “Mbuya! Mbuya!”

Mbuya laughs, continues to the insaka [outdoor kitchen] to retrieve some coals, and then returns to her small hut next-door.

About 50 m away, on the path that leads to our house I see two young girls approaching. They enter the yard, dirty-kneed, dusty-cheeked; wearing dresses they are the 5^th or 6^th owner of.

They’re a sepia palette against a colour backdrop.

The older girl looks healthier. She clutches a 500 kwacha note in her hand (15 cents). The other girl looks a bit fragile. She trails behind looking down at her fists, which clench the tattered material on the front of her dress.

The smaller girl looks up and we make eye contact. Muli shani [How are you!] I call out, and pass her the football. It skids to a stop at her feet. She looks down at the ball, and up at me. Her eyes are haunted. After a moment, she shuffles on to catch up with the other girl.

They’ve come to buy sugar. Catherine tells her son Moses to get the red mountain bicycle out of the house. She instructs him to ride to the family “shop”, and retrieve the sugar from his sister Erica (20), who is working there today.

Ruthie gets the girls a stool while they wait. Catherine comes out of the insaka with two pieces of roasted cassava for the girls to munch on.

I ask her, “Are they sisters?” “Awe,” [No] she replies, and looks over to Maureen. “They’re cousins,” Maureen assists her mother in answering me in English. Catherine points to the smaller girl. “That one, double orphan,” she says. “Mother, father, both dead,” she explains, and then disappears into the house.

Catherine returns from the house with a worn plastic bag. At the same time, Moses speeds into the yard on the red mountain bicycle, holding a baggie of sugar.

The older girl takes the sugar from Moses. Catherine hands the other bag, full of imbalala to the smaller girl. Both give a curtsy, a “Natotela” [thanks], and turn and exit the yard. Again, the smaller girl trails behind. She is looking down again, this time at the full bag of peanuts in her hands.

Media returns to the insaka to finish preparing the nshima for lunch. Ruthie moves her miniature patio chair over to where Samson and my dad are sitting. Maureen and Agi head down to the stream to fetch water. Nkandu passes me the football. I pass it to Boyd. Boyd passes it to Moses.

Amid such contrasts of vulnerable and viable, life in Spoon Village goes on.

The Mwape Family

I live in Spoon Village, Itemba Ward, Milenge District, Luapula Province, Zambia.

More specifically, I live with the Mwape family. More importantly, I love it here.

The parents Catherine (41) and Samson (43) have eight children between the ages of 6 and 25. Martin and Miriam are the oldest, but they're already married and live elsewhere. Maureen (23) came third, then Erica (20), Media (16), Moses (12), Nkandu (9), and Ruthie (6). The Mwape's niece, Agi (14) has stayed with them since 2001, and their great-nephew, Boyd (8) has lived with them since 2004. Lastly, Catherine's mom, Mbuya Erica (Grandma Erica) lives right next door.

I'll let pictures do the rest of the talking.

On the bottom from left to right: Nkandu (blue), Moses (red), Boyd (yellow), Ruthie (pink), and my Dad, who was visiting from Canada. On top, they are preparing kung fu poses, a popular picture-taking endeavour for kids in Zambia.

On the left Maureen (23) sits inside our house. You can see some of this year's maize harvest bagged in the background. Outside, Media's (16) cooking nshima in the insaka [outdoor kitchen].

Agi (14) poses with their wheel barrow in the background. The Mwape's are the first family I've seen to invest in a less labour-intensive way of carrying water.

My host parents, Samson and Catherine (above). Their fourth-born, Erica (20) is sitting inside the house.

Mbuya is standing with one of her sons in front of our house, Mbuya lives next-door.

......................................................................

At work, I’m running alongside Chris Mulenga, an environmental health specialist from Milenge District Council, trying to:

(1) Absorb what Chris is learning as he pilots this new water and sanitation project for us, and

(2) Transfer this learning to higher management levels to get everyone in the loop.