Roads Less Traveled

Joe- He was not as amused
as I was with the helmet I
brought for him to use.

You can see more photos on my Flickr page.

I recently returned from my Zambulance research expedition.  And as promised, I am going to do my best to share with you some of the major events over the last week, but I am afraid simple text and photos will mostly fail to convey the depth of each experience.  Regardless, I will do my best.  Joe Stangl, a Peace Corps/Zambikes volunteer and I began our journey on March 23rd, at 11am.  We mounted our trusty Honda 200cc Bushlander motorbike with Zambulance trailer in tow.  We had a tent, sleeping bags, a few changes of clothes, some food, spare parts, tools, and camera equipment loaded up on the trailer.  We began our quest into the Eastern Province of Zambia to visit 20 rural health centers and/or small villages that had been given zambulances.  The purpose of our trip was to determine if and how the zambulances were being used, how they were working, if they were helping people and saving lives, what made for a successful or unsuccessful placement, etc.  In addition, we were going to video some of the individuals we interviewed to make a zambulance promotion video.  But before we could concern ourselves with those tasks, we had to make it to Petauke, a town located over 500km from Lusaka.  We rode through mountains and beautiful scenery until nightfall.  We just made it to Petauke and managed to get dinner and set up camp near a guest lodge.  The next morning we woke up and started off to visit the first 4 sites on our list.  To our surprise, we easily found the sites and the interviews went smoothly.  So later that afternoon, we pressed on to Chipata, a city about 200km northeast of Petauke.  We were making great time, but rainclouds began to close in on us from both sides.  The blue sky was becoming a narrow strip straight in front of us.  I was determined to outrun the storm.  And I succeeded in doing so for quite a while.  Joe and I were marveling at the fact that we were still dry even though we could see sheets of rain on all sides of us.  But eventually, we could avoid the rain no longer.  It began pouring down and our progress was slowed drastically.  I was convinced we should press on to Chipata so we could arrive, find were we are staying, and get dry.  Joe voted to stop and wait for the rain to die down.  I obliged Joe (after all, I had a visor on my helmet to keep out the rain and he did not).  We took shelter in a church and waited for about 30 minutes. The rain calmed slightly but showed no signs of ceasing.  We asked a boy nearby how far it was to Chipata.  We had no idea because the speedometer and odometer on the bike didn’t work.  He told us we were 5 to 10 minutes away.  We knew better than to trust one opinion (time and distance are all relative in Zambia and often vary a lot from person to person), so we asked another boy as well.  He confirmed that we were very close to the city.  So we hopped back on the bike, braved the cold rain, and made it into Chipata.  We stayed at the Peace Corps house there.  It was great.  We took warm showers, dried off, and slept well.

I was invited to play the drums during a tribal ceremony

Now this is where I really am going to do an injustice to my experiences over the following three days.  Joe and I split up the 11 zambulance sites around Chipata.  He visited the close ones by bicycle and I visited the far ones (20-60km) by motorcycle.  To arrive at those sites I had to take winding dirt roads that occasionally cut through villages populated by Zambians, goats, pigs, and cows.  And it was to and from these sites that I was able to watch breathtaking sunsets behind the mountains, visit a tobacco farm, see African wild dogs (they look like a mix between a large coyote and fox), encounter native birds that come in all kinds of unbelievable shades and designs, participate in village soccer and netball, and keep rhythm with a tribal dance drum line.  Whew!  Now at the sites themselves, Joe and I both managed to get great feedback on the zambulances.  I am happy to report they are saving lives and being put to good use.  We were able to hear stories of and even meet some people that had used the zambulance and may not have been alive had it not been available to them.  Things were going great...

After conquering the Chipata sites, Joe and I headed back toward Lusaka.  We stopped in Katete, a town half-way between Chipata and Petauke to visit the last 5 sites.  We pitched a tent and fell asleep underneath a billion stars.  Upon waking, I learned that KU had been upset to make it to the Final Four.  I should have known then that the stars we had slept under had chosen to align themselves against us, but I paid no heed.  After all, we only had 5 sites left.  But we quickly discovered that these sites would be our greatest challenge.  They had terrible roads and were all located in the middle of nowhere (which actually happened to be near a national park and thus turned out to be some of the most beautiful places as well).  It is not likely that there was another white person within at least 75km.  We only managed to get to 3 sites the first day.  We tried for four but gave up on the last one entirely after riding for an hour and arriving at the rural health center at nightfall and being told the zambulance was located at another village at least 30 minutes further into the bush.  The day had taken its toll on us.  At dinner, Joe confessed that he was defeated.  He did not want to try to go for the last site, Msoro, which was around 100km from Katete and of which locals kept warning us had “the worst road.”  I, however, was not willing to throw in the towel so close to the finish line.  We decided that Joe would take a bus back to Lusaka the next morning and I would go to Msoro, finish the interviews, stay the night with a contact there, and return to Lusaka the following day.  In the morning, Joe and I parted ways, wishing each other a safe journey.  He headed for Lusaka.  I headed for Msoro.  I loaded my backpack with my camera equipment and enough clothes for a day and left the trailer at our campsite.  I left early having been told that the trip takes 3 hours by car (sometimes more in the rainy season- which we are currently in).  I reached the turnoff with no problems and 30 minutes into my ride I was wondering what made this road any worse than the roads we had faced the day before.  Don’t get me wrong, it was bad- loose gravel, ditches, flooded areas, etc- but it wasn’t anything we hadn’t yet encountered on our site visits.  It was about this same time that a large black pig was walking toward the right side of the road.  Again, this was nothing unusual and I gave it little thought.  Like all the other pigs we had met on the road, I knew it wasn’t likely to stop walking until I was right in front of it so I slowed down a little and hugged the left side of the road.  The pig heard me coming and in a panic (or in an evil scheme) decided to run... right in front of me.  I braked and turned to dodge it.  I successfully avoided the pig, but both the bike and my body had a hard fall followed by a 20 foot sliding stop.  By the time I got up, villagers had gathered along the roadside and were trying to piece together what had happened.  Meanwhile, I got the bike upright again and took inventory on the bike and myself.  My palms were both bloody from sliding in the gravel, my left wrist was sore, and my head was still ringing.  My helmet visor had broken off and was lying in the road.  The left side panel on the bike had come loose and the shifter, which is normally shaped like an “I”, was bent into a “U”.  One of the village women brought me water to wash off some of the blood and dirt.  I found that the bike was still ridable and I could manage to shift using the heel of my boot.  I decided to try to ride back to Katete (where I had just come from) and try to repair myself and the bike.  So with the help of some village kids I jump started my bike and headed back.

This photo was taken just before I left for Msoro the first time.
(Clothing provided by Standard Style)

I made it back safely and slowly.  I found a guy to repair my bike in Katete for dirt cheap and went back to the guest lodge we were camping by and washed out the wounds on my hands again.  The bike was repaired within the hour, and I was feeling a little better myself.  There was still plenty of daylight left, so instead of heading back toward Lusaka where I could recover properly, have a shower, and eat a large plate of bacon (to get back at that stupid pig), I threw on some biking gloves and turned once again toward Msoro.  This time, I progressed more cautiously and had no problems with farm animals.  About an hour and a half into the trip, the road began to demonstrate why it had earned its reputation as the worst road.  Narrow, one to two feet deep ditches began to appear.  They intersected all throughout the road.  I successfully navigated these for quite awhile.  But eventually one formed right in the middle of the road and forced me to choose a side to go around it.  I chose left.  I chose wrong.  The ditch also decided to cut left just as the road began downhill.  I cut back to the right to try to cross it.  I fell.  My helmet and right shoulder slammed against the ground.  Again, I picked up my bike and took inventory.  My shoulder/collar bone was in a great deal of pain.  Villager gathered around me for the second time.  I told them I was ok but my shoulder really hurt.  They took it upon themselves to grab my arm and test my range of motion.  Ouch.  They informed me that I was only 15km from Msoro.  So I loosened the right shoulder strap on my backpack and pressed on.  After what seemed like an hour, I reached Msoro.  I met up with my contact there and he led me to the community health worker (village physician) so I could conduct the interview.  Upon opening my bag to retrieve my camera, I discovered that one of my camera lenses had not survived the falls.  As I looked at the broken lens that cost as much as my round-trip flight to Africa, my heart sank.  Thankfully, my other lens was in tact and I could still use it to video the interviews.  I managed to suppress the pain of my shoulder long enough to do the interview.  Afterwards, the community health worker cleaned the wounds on my hands again using disinfectant.  In fact, she even taped a cotton swab doused with disinfectant to my hands.  My hands were on fire.  But at least I wasn’t noticing the pain in my shoulder anymore.  I could hardly sit still and the pain would not decrease.  I managed to eat dinner with the villagers in this condition.  But when I could take no more, I removed the swabs.  Seeing that I was still in a great deal of pain, they arranged for me to go to the rural health center, about 15km away.  The one villager who knew how to ride a motorcycle drove me and my bike to the center.  Once there, the main physician allowed me to stay at his place for the night.  He gave me 2 much needed Ibuprofen and drew a bath for me.  And as I sat nursing my wounds in a shed with two chickens, “bathing” with a bucket of warm water and a sponge, with the sound of the village girls’ choir practicing songs in the background, I thought for the second time since arriving, “This is Africa.”

The next morning, I was treated to grass tea and corn porridge for breakfast.  I rode my bike back to the village and was given a second breakfast of n’shima and pumpkin leaves.  I said my goodbyes, collected my things, and apologized to the villagers that I could not stay longer so they could prepare a goat or chicken for me.

I survived the ride back to Katete, enduring a fractured collar bone on a rough road while wearing a 40lb backpack.  I paid a trucker to load up my bike and trailer and drive me back to Lusaka.  Now, I am back in Lusaka.  I am safe, and I am healing.  And I think I am going to cook some bacon.

The Resurrection and The Life

 I am in the middle of my Zambulance research adventure, and I will let you all know about that in my next post, after I have completed the journey.  But so far it has been amazing and the prayers have been working... so keep it up!  But that is not what I want to post about now.  This post is going to be a little different and here are some things you might want to know:
First of all, this is going to be a long post.  Second, it does not have much at all to do with Zambia.  Third, although completely sincere, you might consider it to be preachy.  If you are still interested... Read on.

A Japanese woman mourns the loss of her mother after firefighters recovered the body from the rubble. (AP Photo/Shuji Kajiyama)



When tragedy strikes, the news of it travels fast, like waves rippling out from the epicenter of the disaster.  As the news of such tragedy is heard by those on the fringes, those relatively untouched by the tragedy, they are quickly faced with their limited ability to do anything to remedy the situation.  They respond with head shakes, prayers, words of sympathy that seem only fall to the ground, the offering of support, and occasionally going as far as traveling to the site of the tragedy to do whatever they can to offer some relief or help to the victims.  But time passes... and those on the fringes move on with their lives.  And the news of the tragedy goes from shocking, to expected, to non-existent.  For such individuals, time serves to make the tragedy "a thing of the past."  But it cannot do so for everyone.  Despite what people say, there are wounds so deep that even time cannot fully heal (only an eternity).  And those at the epicenter of the tragedy are left having to relearn how to live in the aftermath.  They are only all too aware that things will never go back to “the way they were.” Although time allows for some adjustment, it does not ever fully remove the sting.  They must face a new, undesired reality and in the midst of shifted landscape and the rubble of the life they once knew, they are left searching to see what remains… to see what is still unmoved… unchanged.  They are left to rebuild.  They must rediscover hope, for the measure that sustained them before will surely prove to be insufficient. They must relearn truth, for what was easily accepted before will now have to stand trial in light of new evidence.  No longer can they survive on the truth and hope of yesterday.  That is a luxury that only those on the outskirts of a tragedy can maintain.  Instead, they must either dig deeper to the very roots of their previously proclaimed source of hope and truth to discover if it remains intact, or they must abandon it altogether in search of a new source to become the anchor of their soul.

Now my purpose in writing this is not to convince those who find themselves on the “fringes” to never move on with their life after they hear news of a tragedy.  Indeed, we should respond when tragedy arises, but it is impossible by our own efforts to somehow place ourselves in the shoes of those struck by the tragedy and it would be foolish to try to do so every time there is a tragedy.  No, I am writing this because if you have not already experienced a tragedy in your life, you likely will before your time on earth is complete.  You may not find yourself at the epicenter but at least close enough to experience the shaking first-hand.  And in that moment you will find yourself searching… searching for answers...  searching for truth....  searching for hope.  My prayer is that you will find a rock on which to stand, a rock that doesn’t move even if the mountains fall into the sea around you.  I believe there is only one such Rock, one such Truth, one such Hope… which is that God is good and Jesus is the Resurrection and the Life.  In the midst of tragedy, God is still good.  He is not the author of evil.  “The thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy, but I (Jesus) have come to give you the most abundant life.” (John 10:10)  “Do not be deceived my dear brothers and sisters.  Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of light with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.”  (James 1:16-17)  God does not bring tragedy.  He works to bring good and redemption into the midst of the tragedies of this fallen world.  The greatest tragedy the world has ever known is the separation of man from God by the original sin.  Mankind was left helpless and hopeless, yet God humbly sent His Son, Jesus to become a man and walk among us- to reconnect us to God.  Yet the people he was sent to rejected him, choosing to follow religion and tradition over truly “walking with God.”  So they took the hand of reconciliation that God had extended and nailed it to a cross.  Mankind spit in the face of God and killed His Son.  Yet God took this injustice and tragedy and displayed true love, forgiveness, and mercy- instead of pouring out wrath and judgment, He took all of our sins and shortcomings and placed them upon His own Son.  God chose redemption over retribution.  And out of the darkest hours of death and tragedy… Jesus arose.  And it is because of this that in the midst of the death and tragedy we face, we can endure.  Because there is a resurrection.  And Jesus accomplished what time could not- He took away the final sting.  And when the last of the mountains have fallen and the things of this world have all been shaken and time finds an end, those who share this hope shall rise with Jesus.  And then tragedy itself will become “a thing of the past.”

Jesus said, “I am the resurrection and the life.  Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who believes in me shall never die.” 
John 11:25-26

Zambulance Trip

While KU is busy continuing its progress on the road to the Final Four, I will be busy progressing on my own road.  I am going on a trip with Joe, an American Peace Corps/ Zambikes volunteer.  We will be gone for a week visiting various Zambulance sites, gathering information, and taking photos and videos at the sites.  I appreciate any prayers for safety, favor, and effectiveness regarding our trip.  When I return, I will be sure to post about the main happenings on our excursion throughout rural Zambia.

Africa- The Final Frontier

I was standing in the midst of downtown Lusaka looking to purchase a bearing for our broken washing machine.  I was definitely off the beaten path and probably the only white person for a few miles in any direction (I was down there for 2 hours and never saw another “mazungu”).  After walking through a few alleys surrounded by makeshift workshops constructed mostly of recycled wood, cardboard, and pieces of tarp, I came to an opening and found the place for which I was looking.  To my left, there was a man soldering metal.  He closed his eyes and turned his head with each solder because he had no glasses (or gloves).  In front of me, a woman in an apron was cooking shima (a traditional Zambian staple food like corn meal), rape (a spinach-like vegetable), and frying chicken in a cauldron over a small fire.  To my right, a few guys were gathered around a pool table that had been squeezed into the dirt floored space between the surrounding shops.  After a little haggling (at the shop with the guy soldering), I managed to purchase the bearing at a reasonable price.  I made my way back through the workshop alley maze and out to the main road, where the cars were busy zipping around.  In that moment, I thought to myself, “This is Africa.”
There is just something about it that I love.  Actually, there are many things... but there is one in particular that comes to mind: Africa is unprocessed (It is like pulling a piece of fruit right off the tree, where America is like buying it in the store with a sticker on it).  Africa is a pioneer’s paradise.
In the states, it often feels like all that there is to explore has already been charted and mapped out.  All the boundaries and limits have already been pushed, leaving behind laws and signs that restrict you from testing them for yourself (for safety reasons, of course).  It is not that those things are bad, it is just that they make for a less adventurous world.  (I know my mom would appreciate it if I valued safety over adventure, but... I don’t.)
In Africa, most things leave you with a raw, natural, and unique experience that in the US would be commercialized, prepackaged, and restricted.
I have found that one of the by-products of this unprocessed culture is that you are likely to acquire skills (and experiences) that you wouldn’t have otherwise.
Whether writing website code, making mosquito screens, repairing washing machines, or building a house, you find that in many situations, you are as knowledgeable a source as anyone else.  So with a little help from google, you may find yourself to be the nearest expert on any given subject.  You may be a long way off from being a “licensed” or “certified” expert in the US and your finished product will likely look like it was “made in Zambia” (where final results are more often “close enough” or “it will work” than “exact” or “perfect”), but you will definitely learn something new- which is always worthwhile.

Happy 21st Birthday Zach!!!

As great of a time as I am having here in Zambia, I wish I could be home for my brother's 21st birthday.  Today, March 14th is the big day.  (So, you should all wish him a happy birthday.)

Zach, I love you brother and I hope that your 21st year proves to be the best thus far.  I couldn't ask for a better little bro or friend.  Wish I could be there to celebrate with you.  Dustin, Vaughn, and I will have a drink and toast in your honor tonight.

Also, Rock Chalk Jayhawk!!!  KU- Big XII Champions!  (I am also really missing March Madness.)

Zach and I in France in 2008

Mulungushi Lake

It turns out that Dustin and Vaughn have a lake house.  Granted, it is a very Zambian lake house... They bought a small plot of land next to a lake for about as much as you can buy a TV set in the states, dug out a bunch of dirt and rock on a hillside, and used local stones, mud, and cement to construct a cave-like house alongside the lake.  It is a perfect Zambian lake house in my opinion.  It is far from luxurious (It is no Shell Knob “Mac Shack”), but if you want to spend a weekend at the lake with a roof over your head, it works just fine.  Anyway, the lake house is not exactly furnished yet... It is just two empty rooms with a few windows.  So we went up this weekend to build a kitchen counter, stone grill for BBQs, and window screens to keep out mosquitos.  I worked on the grill and window screens, and let me tell you that if you have screens on your windows right now and you did not have to construct them yourself... Be thankful.  Because apparently, you can’t just go buy window screens in Zambia.  Anyway, after 3 solid hours of trying to construct a window screens, we admitted defeat... At least until we can get some more supplies to try another method.  Despite that setback, we had a productive and enjoyable time at the lake. But I think my favorite part was actually the ride down to the lake because I got to take a motorcycle down there and drive for an hour or two down a crazy muddy road.  I somehow managed to keep from falling but couldn’t prevent myself from ending up soaking wet and covered in mud. (I gave up on staying dry when I came to a river that had decided to form over the road about 2-3 feet deep.)  Another good weekend in Zambia.

Project Updates

So I figure that I am overdue in updating you all on the projects on which I am working.  So here it goes:

Zambulance Project-
I have been working with an American named Joe on the Zambulance project.  Joe came to Zambia with Peace Corp and since finishing his term he has been doing some volunteer work with Zambikes.  We have contacted several organizations that distributed a large number of zambulances and have made plans to visit several of the sites in the Eastern, Southern, and Northern Provinces.  We budgeted out the cost of visiting each province and determined that it would be easy and cost effective for Joe to visit several sites in Northern Province (due to his Peace Corp connections there).  So Joe headed out last Friday and is currently conducting surveys there.  Meanwhile, we are determining the best way to contact the other provinces so that we can conduct those surveys as inexpensively as possible.

Website project-
This project is a more recent development. I have been taking some photos for Zambikes to update their website, and it fell into my hands to learn how to upload them.  I figured it out relatively quick, so Vaughn and Dustin asked me to work on updating and changing a couple other things on the Zambikes website.  So I have been teaching myself how to edit and write code for websites.  It has been a fun task and given me plenty to do to stay busy.

Restaurant project-
My involvement at Revolucion, the Mexican restaurant, has decreased over the last few weeks because they hired a new general manager named Melissa.  Melissa was a general manager in the states but had been wanting to come work in Africa because her parents are missionaries here.  She has been busy trying to nail down new policies and solve all the random problems that can occur with a Zambian restaurant (ie- “The food delivery guy didn’t show up today, we are out of ice, the power has been out all day, and the generator is almost out of petrol”... that all happened Friday).  I am still doing some work to help train the servers from time to time and helping with some marketing projects (facebook page, flyers, posters, menu inserts, etc).  But I have been spending more time working with Zambikes as of late.