A Different Christmas

Creche at St Anthony's our parish

Last month we celebrated a different Christmas

Last month was our first Christmas outside of our hemisphere, outside of the United States, outside of the physical reach of any one of our families. I knew that I would miss my children, grandchildren, family and friends. This has been true for some or all of them at one time or another over the years.

I told myself I was trading all of that for the experience of an African Christmas. I had complained about the fact that Christmas was coming earlier and earlier every year. In the states, it seem to start at the same time as Thanksgiving or almost.

Not in Zambia. I saw no Christmas decorations on the streets, no Christmas music being played in the stores where we shop. No Christmas music blaring from the radios of cars. It seem the only person who were aware of Christmas was the grocery store which had stars, ornaments lights and garlands for sale.

To be continued.  

Cultural Differences.

From time to time I run into cultural differences. They are not big things but little surprises. When they arise you say oh! I never looked at it that way. This day I want to talk about funerals I attended the funeral of an important man, a titan of media, an outspoken champion of the people, a priest. People all over Zambia and the world would be attended. A group from our Friary was going and I and Sandra with them. We were leaving at 730 hours for Ndola. I showed up in a dark suite. I began to receive compliments on how nice I looked. I thought it nothing more than the fact that they don't often see me in my dress up clothes. I looked at the others gathered for the ride to Ndola, not a suite among them. I knew that some of the men had suites. I'd seen them worn at church. Common clothing or work cloths seemed to be what other men were wearing. I said to a friend, I seem to be over dressed. He said you are fine. This is what you would ware to a funeral your country. It is fine. We would not dress this way because for us those are not mourning clothes. They are business or celebration clothing. We go to a funeral with the expectation that we will be given the privilege to shovel, that we will get dirty. This is part of how we show respect for the diseased. I have noticed that men from among the crowed of mourners take turns covering the casket with earth, and that the women cover the barial mound with a blanket of flowers.     

Chicken and Chair

I belong to a small christian community that is attached to the local parish. We meet weekly to share the gospel of that week. We talk about events that are happening in the life of the parish, about how we can participate as members of the small christian community. At a recent meeting we were discussing plans for the feast day of our patron saint. Jobs were being assigned, a location for the celebration confirmed. Sandra and I were assigned to bring chickens, as were others. The business completed, the snack served I was about to take Sandra and myself home when a member of the group came to me. I recognized her as a employee of the friary. She said to me “I have no money; you buy my chicken”. Full of the gospel and brotherly love I said ok without thinking. Immediately I was sorry I had done this, as I remembered our training at Franciscan Mission Service. How, they had tried to teach us how not to be seen as a source of money or to be used by others because of our perceived personal power. I bought an extra chicken and gave it in her name. I am waiting for the other shoe to drop so to speak. That other request would be coming. This has not materialized thank God.

As part of the small christian community there are a number of financial obligations and non-financial obligations placed on the members. The most common of these are membership dues and work days around the parish and its property. At a meeting about a month ago there was a discussion that the men of the parish were not fulfilling their role as leaders in the parish. Two examples were given. In a special collection on Sundays, the women in the parish were contributing more then the men, almost twice as much. The other was chairs for the church hall. It is the obligation of each men of the parish to buy one chair for the parish hall. The object is not to have to move the pews in the church to the hall in order to have seating for the hall. As a member of the parish and a member of the small christian community I wanted to do my part. Putting money in the collection was easy if I showed I would do my bit to help. The chair on the other hand requires me to go some where buy a single chair and haul it to church. In the states this would be simple, here to go to town requires the consent of others. I'd need to ask for a vehicle when that is granted it comes with strings attached, such as tasks that need to be done while I am in town in order to make the wear and tear and the expense of fuel worth while. There are buses that can take you to town but you must transfer to another bus at least once These buses are mini vans with four seat in each row. One seat folds up to create an aisle. They pack these buses like sardines. Coming from town lugging a plastic chair on a bus is the last thing I want to do. By the time I get the vehicle, the task I want to do is a low priority against the things I must accomplish while I am there. Each week I tell myself I am not going to be one of those men who have not held up their end of the bargin. Finally the stars aligned and I bought my chair. I proudly took it to the church hall. I found it locked. I took my chair to the church office, there it turned out to be one of seven being held there for safe keeping. Until the other men do their duty.

Two Flats

Sandra and I were sent to get a price of a wooden bed for the Retreat Ctr. We were trying to decide if it would be cheaper to have a bed made by one of the local carpenters or buy one from the furniture co-op of Independence Rd. We were given a two door sedan for t his task. We arrived at the open air furniture store by a dirt road. This road is a real test of the shock absorbers of any car. We made our inquires. They a bed to sell, but would have one in four days. The price was to high. We had the information we wanted so we returned to the car. As we were driving away people were trying to get our attention. They were speaking in bemba. We had no clue what they wanted. They were so animated, perhaps agitated we stop to see what the problem might be. A person speaking english came forward and told us we were driving on a flat tire. I felt foolish for not recognizing it, but the road was so bad I didn't. Two young men offered to help me with the flat. I reluctantly agreed to allow them to help. Work is hard to come by and they are not well paid when they do find work. I opened the boot. We took out the tire changing tools. They jack up the car and began removing lug nuts. Then we took out the spare and found that it too was flat. At this point my new found friends suggest a place I could have the tires repaired. I don't know this place. It will be dark soon and I am hesitate to go - I don't know where - with people I just met. I imagine all the terrible things that could happen to me if I go with their plan. I call Br. Tony, the other priest and brothers are far away, he dose not answer his phone. I call the one other person I know who could help me, not a mechanic or a tow truck but the the cook at the friary. I tell him my problem. He tells there is a tire repair in the opposite direction I was being directed to go by my new friends. I insist on going in the direction the cook is sending me.We leave Sandra to guard the car. They carried a tire a piece a quarter mile. We discover the repair shop had moved. They hail a cab which I agree to pay for to take us to the repair shop. The shop turns out to be a barren spot along the road with four guys sitting near a tarp set up to provide shade. An air compressor, no hydraulics, no sign of a business. The tires are repaired without benefit of modern technology. The cab took us back to Sandra. My new friends put the tire on at dusk. This little adventure cost me Ninety thousand Kwacha or about Eighteen Dollars.

Being Here

One of the things that is great about being in Zambia is to see a nation that is run by the native people. A nation that has been at peace since it's beginning. It has been a safe haven for it's eight neighbors when there was need. The economy is not very strong. The kwacha started out equal to the U.S. Dollar but has slid to almost five thousand for one dollar. The country has resources in semi-prescious stones, no diamonds in an abundance worth mining. Zambia is rich in copper which is the countries major export.

Wages are low. I am told a day labor works for ten thousand Kwacha a day. I was told that the stipend I receive each month, is the equivalent of what a worker at Hungary Lion takes home in a month. Hungary Lion is the closest thing to McDonald s here in Zambia.

Domestic workers, gardeners, and private security get a bag of meal to take home to their families and lunch each week. They are given money for family emergencies like a death in their families. They might ask for a vehicle to transport a sick family member to a doctor or hospital. If you employ a Zambian, you accept a contract left behind from the colonial period. You sort of are required to treat them like step children you love.

The Friary employs an number of local people. The friars pay a living wage and they to are ask to provide lunch and all the extras of the step child contract. The Friars don't mind as long as it is immediate family, but sometimes the definition of family is stretched by western standards. There are many times when it looks to me like the Friars are being taken advantage of. At those times I tell myself that I have only been in country for five months. The friars many times five years if they are not upset I should not be upset.

Around Kitwe

This is by no means a definitive look at Kitwe.
This is what you might see as you pass through Kitwe.












A Chinese restaurant turned into a Casino

Greek Revival Churches

Sky Scrappers

All the conveniences of home

 

 

Open air markets

A response to our daughter

As far as how is life here for us it is good. There is real poverty here. The friars are sheltering us from it. We go practically nowhere without one of them or their employees. To be fare we must say that we would not know where to go or how to get there.  A dish very much like smooth grits is served twice a day. In general meals are part american and part Zambian. The greens they serve don't taste as good as the greens we are used to. The are tuff and sometimes slightly bitter. We can drive or be driven to town. Your mother uses this as a way of bonding with the women. We can get most things we need in town, not the brands we know but a generics. As we go to town with others we are learning that the chinese own most of the shops we visit. In Lusaka there are shopping malls as we know them. In Kitwe there are only markets with shops, some on board walks over sewage, others on dirt roads still others on paved streets with the usual shortage of parking.  It is good to have a variety of things to do. It allows me not to be concerned about future burn out. Nothing is routine yet