Today was interesting. The resounding message ringing through my head as I wind down for the night is that my life is incredibly, perhaps even disgustingly, privileged.
Our plan this morning was to visit more clubs with Catherine. Siwale was planning on driving us since most of the clubs were in Mtendare (which Siwale informed us today is the third largest compound in Lusaka – meaning a significant number of the population lives there). But, the car was dead. After a few phone calls and a jog up the street, Siwale found someone to jump the car. Not with jumper cables, mind you – this is Zambia after all. I’ll spare you the details, but I was stunned that no one got shocked in the process.
We’ve driven through Mtendere before, but today was different. A sea of bodies flooded the streets making them virtually impassable by car. People swarmed around the makeshift booths that lined the dusty dirt road. Men were selling chickens out of the back of a truck. Tiny children were bathing themselves in the murky, muddy water of a puddle. Women unsuccessfully swatted at the throngs of flies assaulting whatever foul meat they happened to be peddling. We passed rows of bars, and the blaring music added an unsettling element to the already chaotic scene before us. It was not even 10am and some of the people had obviously been drinking for awhile already. And the smell. I can only describe it as a mixture of garbage and rotting fish. I was overwhelmed. I was heartbroken.
As we passed women starred, men shouted, and children pointed.
It was surreal. The force of the poverty in this place is suffocating.
When we arrived at our first stop, the only thing I could think about was that these little girls not only passed through this every Saturday to attend club – but this was where they lived. This place is an assault to my senses. This place is their home.
look at those eyes!
listening intently
so gorgeous
the boys get jealous and try to see what's going on in club
more cuties
Meeting with the counselors and girls was like a breath of fresh air. They are all so welcoming and so delighted to have us visit. After our second stop, however, Siwale informed us that we had a problem. We were out of gas, and apparently no stations were selling any.
As Siwale explained it, yesterday someone in the government started a rumor that the main fuel supply plant was shut down. Once the rumor started circulating, all the fuel station owners panicked and stopped selling gas. Lovely. Apparently the last time there was an actual fuel shortage every service station had cars packed in it and the roads were cluttered with lines of abandoned cars. It took several days for more gas to be shipped in, so people were left with no choice but to leave their cars on the road as close as they could to the pump. Siwale doesn’t think that will happen again since this is not an actual shortage, but either way it thwarted our plans.
Steph and I decided we would go visit the kids in the orphan home that GEMS helped build since we couldn’t visit any more clubs. It was so good to see them again. They were shy at first, but they quickly warmed up to us with smiles and hugs. They all brought out their handmade folders from school. Pieces of newspaper wrapped around lined paper with a few stitches on the seam. They each took turns carefully and proudly displaying their schoolwork for us. Then, it was outside for games and songs. As soon as we sit down, the girls want to braid our hair. As I got my new hair-do, I played a game of checkers on a piece of cardboard with blue and white bottle tops the kids had collected. They cheated; I lost.
7 of the 8 kids with their momma
chores first, then we can play
they made us dance again...and we got shown up again
thumbs up!
my new look
When we got back to our house, Catherine met us again because there were a few more clubs that met in the afternoon that it was safe to walk to…or so we thought.
We walked across a giant field to a small white building. None of the counselors had arrived yet, so we stopped to chat with some of the girls that were starting to congregate in the shade. I walked back up the garbage-lined street a bit to get a picture from further away. As I started to put my camera away I heard someone approaching behind me. He was calling me, but I tried to ignore him as I walked back toward Stephanie and Catherine. He caught up to me by the time I reached them, and my heart was racing a little bit (to say the least). He was angry. Very angry. He was accusing me of taking pictures of people – specifically he and his friends. His voice was agitated and he was pointing his finger. “It’s not right,” he yelled. How dare you, he was essentially saying. How dare you come to my country and exploit me.
I started to defend myself. I hadn’t, after all, taken anyone’s picture. I had just gotten a shot of the building. “No,” he yelled back, “I saw you. You pointed the camera right over there. It’s not right.”
At this point Catherine had put herself between me and him, and was talking to him in Nyenja (one of the native languages). “Are you there bodyguard?” he questioned sarcastically. He then started to threaten us. He threatened to break our cameras – to throw them in the garbage heap. He even threatened to call the police. Just as his friends rounded the corner of the building, Catherine managed to get him to leave.
“He is drunk,” she said. We decided we needed to leave, and as we passed by the bar he had come out of, a group of men continued to shout at us, daring us to come inside.
I was freaked out; I’m not going to lie. But, in a strange way, I’m kind of glad it all happened. It forced me to stop and try to imagine the world from his point of view. I didn’t do anything wrong, and his actions were inappropriate. But, after processing it for a few hours I can see now where he was coming from. I’m a young, white, female walking through his community with a camera that probably cost more money than he could ever hope to make in a year. And, he’s right…it’s not okay to take someone’s picture without asking. And I’m sure he’s seen plenty of people who look just like me who gawk and stare and snap pictures.
Part of the reason the bars are so full is that the unemployment rate is so high. These are facts these people live with every day. I can only imagine that when men can’t provide for their families it takes a toll on their self-worth – so they look for an outlet, an escape.
Anger. Resentment. Pride. They’re all very human emotions. And so maybe he did feel exploited. Maybe I would feel exploited, too.
Mind the Light 
sounds like the hill people in the states. or our own backyards even.
Wait…your own backyard as in my mom’s house?? Haha! Have things gone that badly since I left?
[…] got a problem with you, don’t expect to hear about it from them – that might disrupt the peace (apparently this one doesn’t apply to drunk men who think I’m taking their picture). They’ll have someone else talk to you about the issue and it’s expected that things will be […]