Alice Kchaima

Alice is sitting next to me, drawing, as I write this. She is eleven years old and is an orphan. She is positive, and she has been staying at the hospice on and off for the past three or four years. This time, she’s staying here because she had tuberculosis. The sisters wanted to make sure she recovered somewhere she’d be guaranteed decent meals and regularly scheduled ARVs and TB medication.

Alice is from the Linda community, which I visited this past Saturday. The sisters say the reason that she always eats greedily is that she’s probably the last to eat, after all of her cousins, since she’s an orphan. She loves fried eggs. And popcorn.

Alice has this amazing, perfect smile, and she’s Doctor Bush’s favorite patient. When she’s in a good mood, she laughs all the time. Alice loves to tease the hospice kittens and the smallest hospice dog, Itzikhana. She’s always running around the hospice grounds with her red inflatable beach ball. If it weren’t for this random (but really horrible) cough, you wouldn’t be able to tell that she’s got TB. Apparently, her lungs are very weak, and the sisters hate it when she runs around. She’s positive, but the only outward indication is that she has a slight rash on her face. In general, she’s sick a lot. Alice gets diarrhea frequently, and the schoolteachers are always afraid she’s going to get the other kids sick (since she doesn’t wash her hands sometimes…). She also has some scars on her back, but I’m not sure where they’re from.

Alice is very clever, and she speaks enough English for us to be able to communicate. I think she’s smart enough (and the right age) to be in level 2 or 3, but for some reason, the sisters and teachers have kept her in level 1. I think Sister Stan told me once that she’s very quick, and that she can fool you into thinking she knows more than she actually does. Even though the school is next door to the hospice, Alice doesn’t go to school sometimes. I think the sisters aren’t very strict about her attendance since she’ll be going back home to Linda within the next month, and she’ll start at a school there, hopefully.

Oh yea, she’s obsessed with my camera. We went through all the pictures I’ve taken so far, and she’s taken at least 150 (though she insists that it’s more like 20)!

I’ve been playing a bunch of my music for her. She really likes the Black Eyed Peas and some of the random Indian and Iranian pop I’ve got (she likes Googoosh’s ‘Man Amadeham’). So far she hasn’t really liked any indie that I play for her, though she does seem to like Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline’s ‘Walkin After Midnight’) for some reason.

Alice is a natural dancer. In the evenings, when we sit on the hospice’s back porch while I’m waiting for my buckets to fill, she dances to the gospels coming from the cathedral next door. She also likes to dance to the Roombah and Zambian music on the radio.

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Peter

Peter is fourteen, and he’s also an orphan. He’s negative, but was very sick with TB for a long time. He’s also from Linda, and his relatives started neglecting him when he got sick. He became bedridden, and no one took care of him. They just left him there, and he couldn’t get up to even go to the restroom. Since he was left in the same bed for months, he developed really terrible bedsores on his feet, legs, buttocks, and lower back. After a few months, he also became paralyzed, and no one is quite sure why. Peter has no feeling in his legs now, so his sores don’t hurt him. He also has no bladder or sphincter control. So, his relatives left him, paralyzed, in bed with TB for months, and one day they decided to basically dump him here at the hospice.
Everyone tells me that he smelled terrible when he first came here. I think they said that the smell only started to go after he’d been bathed many, many times.

Even though the nurses and medical officer, Fred, have been cleaning and dressing the sores one or two times a day for the past month, they still ooze. He doesn’t cough loudly like Alice, but he’s always spitting up sputum into an empty bulk ibuprofen container.

Because of the bedsores, Peter has to lie on his stomach for most of the day, and it’s a very uncomfortable position. Eating and carrying on conversations are awkward for him when he’s lying like that. Dr. Bush had a sort of cylindrical tent frame welded, so that Peter can lie under a blanket (to keep away the flies) without the cloth touching his sores.

Peter is very, very smart, and he’s especially good with languages. He is the only native Zambian I’ve met that doesn’t seem to have a problem understanding my American English. Because he’s been out of school for the past year or so and is still recovering, he’s afraid that he’s getting left behind. The hospice physical therapist, Rosa, says that he’s getting depressed, since he’s paralyzed now and doesn’t know what he’s going to do with his life. For now, she’s taking him school books to read, and she’s telling him to just focus on beating the TB.

Peter can get really moody sometimes. I put a kitten on his bed once, and he hit it and knocked it off. I once heard that children, especially boys, who are cruel to animals sometimes grow up to be abusive, or were once abused. Sister Stan just told me today that Peter shirks every time a man comes near him, and that she and Fred think his relatives abused him when he was sick.
Sister Stan and Fred, the medical officer, took Peter to see an orthopedic surgeon today. Dr. Bush had taken some x-rays of Peter’s lower back, and he thought that the TB had destroyed some of his vertebrae, I think. I went along this morning, and the surgeon said that Dr. Bush had just mistaken some gas for destroyed vertebrae. He then went on to diagnose Peter as being paralyzed, which everyone already knew. He wants x-rays of the thoracic region, I think. If Peter is paralyzed because of pressure on a nerve, this guy will operate on him. If not, he will send him to a neurologist. It seems like Peter doesn’t have much of a chance of ever walking again.

Apparently Dr. Bush has been sending patients from the hospice to specialists for years. He then pays for everything that the patient needs. He is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Dr. Bush is English and in his late 50s or early 60s, I think. I’m not sure what the story is, but Sister Stan says he lost all of his family in Auschwitz. He’s met the queen three times and she’s awarded him a title: OBE. I’m not sure what that stands for, exactly, but it’s a title. Mrs. Bush is this awesome black lady from New York. I still can’t figure out her accent. Apparently she made it big in the music business and moved here eight years ago. She sponsors children, villages, etc., funding education, medical expenses, etc. She was telling me about all of her favorite stores on Fifth Avenue, and then she started telling me about the bargains she gets at the infamous Soweto Market in Lusaka. She says that I should go, taking nothing but a little cash stuck in my front pockets, and that I shouldn’t mind the rats, dirty gutters, and pickpockets.

When went into Dr. Bush’s hospital to take x-rays, the hospital was filled with mostly white people, some Indians, and one or two black Zambians. Hmm. People kind of looked shocked to see him there. Walking into the hospital with Sister Stan, Fred, and Peter in a wheelchair reminded me of how terrible Peter’s case is, and how pitiful he looks. I’ve gotten used to the way his sores smell, and I’ve gotten used to how thin he is (believe me, he’s so much better than when I first met him). I guess I’m getting accustomed to the way patients at the hospice look, so I’ve forgotten how it is to first see them.

I wonder if I’ve also just forgotten about the stigma associated with HIV/AIDS, TB, cholera, etc.
I wonder if people will act strangely around me when I get back to Boston, since I’ve been around patients with those diseases.

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Starting to Feel a Little Like a Commodity

I love the people here, but there’s one thing that’s starting to get on my nerves. Employees of the hospice think I’m really rich and keep asking me for money/things. I bring popcorn, tea, and fried eggs to Peter and Alice, and sometimes candy to the men and women, but they’re patients and seriously seriously sick or just dying. And these are tiny tiny things anyway.

The second day I was at the school, the level 2 teacher (who left for good the next day) told me he had a present for me. He basically forced me to take a drawing his brother had done, and then he said that his brother was trying to pay for school and I should donate. I thought it was a gift and forgot about it, so he came to the guesthouse later that day and asked me for money. A few days ago, one of the caregivers asked me to give her books for her son (I had borrowed books from the school library for Peter and Alice, maybe she thought I had bought those?). Yesterday, the day guard was taking a table from the guesthouse to the hospice, and he noticed the packets of pens I have here for the school children. He came back and asked for one, and I gave him a packet, thinking that the sisters had asked for them (but they hadn’t). On Saturday, while Leonard the social worker was taking me around Linda, he asked if I could help him pay for materials to build his new home. He even started telling me how much window frames and door frames cost. Oh yeah, he also asked me if I could send him a computer for his home. One of the caregivers told me that she had come by the guesthouse this afternoon so I could make popcorn for her. She also asked if I could give her my shoes (I wasn’t really sure what to say to that, since I don’t even know this girl). I was wearing my white skirt today, and one of the home based care workers asked me if I could leave it for her. Today, the night guard came by at 10 pm to ask me if I could help fund his education! Even Carol, whose family is really well off, asked me for my jeans (my favorite pair!). The standard phrase that tons of other people have used is, "So, what are you going to leave for me to remember you by?" I never know how to reply.

I wouldn’t mind if I had an actual job or something, but no one understands when I tell them that I’m still in school and probably going to be in debt for the next nine years. I also keep trying to explain that I’m here on a small grant, but I don’t think they believe me.

Don’t get me wrong, most of these people are very nice, but I just can’t stand the way they feel that they are entitled to things or services I may or may not have. When people ask for money, I’m not even sure if they’re asking me directly or want me to go find rich donors in America. I think I’m just getting tired of the hospice workers’ mistaken impression of me/Americans. I’m certain that most of the hospice workers are doing pretty well, for Zambian standards…so I really don’t think that these are the Zambians that need help…

Sister Stan warned me that this would happen three weeks ago! In her Polish accent, she told me that the workers can get ‘very nasty,’ since they don’t understand that volunteers aren’t always rich. I think I’m also starting to understand what Denis meant when he said that sometimes people here treat foreigners as a commodity.

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Reading

I’ve been pretty busy recently, but I’m reading snippets of Henry James’ Portrait of a Lady. It’s really good! It’s about an American girl that goes abroad ‘to find her destiny.’ I really like James’ voice, because he constantly makes fun of his plot and characters (he calls them ‘gouty’ and ‘pretentious’).

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Level 2 Goes to the Zoo

Well, I finally took level 2 to Munda Wanga! Doris, the head teacher, came with me, since the kids listen to her. The manager, Mollie, happens to be from Boston and is really nice. I had talked to her last week about bringing some of the hospice kids, and they let them in with complimentary passes.

It was great – I’ve never been so close to animals like that! I’m pretty sure that I was having more fun than the kids, since I think the school brings the kids here at least once a year.
The guards were especially nice to the community school kids. I bet they’re sick of seeing spoiled children everyday, and this was a welcome change. They slapped the admission stickers onto the boys’ foreheads. I’ve never seen the kids behave so well.

We had a guide, and she led us from enclosure to enclosure. We saw impala, zebras, kites, eagles, cheetahs, lions, tigers, monkeys, baboons, a North American bear (who can’t hibernate because of the African climate), and a four-year-old elephant. The cheetahs and lions were napping, but the tiger kept pacing around in his enclosure. The tiger was really big! A male zebra kept charging at kids standing next to the fence, since it was trying to guard its territory. One girl was wearing a black and white striped shirt, and the zebra charged at her. When we saw the elephant, which is already about 1.3 meters tall (and may grow to 4 meters), it was eating bamboo. Somehow, the elephant opened the gate while its caretaker wasn’t looking, and the gate swung open at us. All the kids rushed back, and the elephant hurried out and started to run away! The caretaker ran after it, trying to catch up. We were all pretty surprised! The zookeepers are going to release it back to the bush soon, since it’s getting too big for the zoo.
After walking through the zoo, we sat down at some tables in the botanical gardens. We had some sodas and candy, and the kids drew pictures of animals in the books we’ve been working on. They seemed to be in a pretty good mood. When I was walking around, one of the kids asked me to draw a baboon. I started drawing, and all the kids clustered around. I think I’ve discovered that the kids would prefer art lessons over the science activities I’ve been trying to do. Maybe in the next two weeks, I’ll try to use the art supplies more in the classrooms.
We walked back to the school and the kids went home.

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The Community School

The Guardian Angel school is run by the same sisters who run the hospice. They try to admit only orphans, and many of these kids are positive. Most of the kids live with relatives, though the sisters have told me that some are street kids and homeless.

There are almost two hundred kids here, though it was built for about a hundred. There are four large classrooms for each of the levels, and two rooms are brand new. Level 1 is roughly the equivalent of grades 1 and 2, level 2 is roughly the equivalent of grades 3 and 4, and so on.
I arrived in Chilanga on Wednesday the 4th, and school hadn’t started yet, so I spent the next few days settling into the guesthouse and exploring Chilanga’s farmlands.

The school year started on Monday the 9th, so the teachers were very busy that first week, enrolling new students. The level 1 class has over 60 kids in it! I spent a lot of time sitting in the classrooms observing teachers. I guess I was trying to get a sense of how classes are run here. By the end of the week, I was giving short lectures. I talked about the planets and solar and lunar eclipses, and I modified the lectures for each level. I used a deck of large cards that have glossy pictures and information about each of the planets.

On Monday the 16th, the level 2 teacher had left for seminary and his replacement had not yet arrived. I was a substitute teacher for two days, teaching English, math, and science. I was trying to teach them to divide two- and three-digit numbers, but I’m not sure if my accent was just confusing them even more. A few of the students are very new to the school, and they barely understand any English. The other kids have to translate my words for them. English went well, because we read lessons on taking a trip to a zoo. I found one of the literature books that I remember from elementary school and I read a story from it. For science, we started talking about animals, food chains, and food webs. I tried to get them to draw their own food chains, but I’m not sure they quite understood me. They did, however, catch on to the game Hangman, and I used sciencey vocab words. I’ll have to remember to use that game again.
During the next three days of the week, I started using the art supplies with the level 1, 2, and 3 kids. I had the level 1 kids, who are very young, draw animals in groups. I gave sketchbooks out to the level 2 kids, and I asked them to draw pictures of zoo animals. After they’ve drawn the animals, I want to write stories about their trip to the zoo into the books. I had the level 3 kids draw and paint pictures of the planets, Earth, and moon. They had a lot of fun, especially with the glitter glue! For the level 4 kids, I gave lectures on Jupiter, Saturn, the parts of a telescope, how a telescope works, the physics of light and lenses, and the physics of heat conduction/convection in planets’ atmospheres. I brought in the telescope parts and demonstrated how each works, and then I assembled the telescope and brought it to the school on Thursday the 19th. I set the telescope up in the schoolyard and we pointed it at objects on the farm next door. I taught the level 3 and 4 kids how to change the telescope’s orientation, exchange eyepieces, and focus the optics.

Yesterday, the 23rd, Doris and I took the level 2 kids to the zoo. Today, I brought art supplies into the level 4 classroom, and they painted, drew, and colored. I can’t really tell what topics I should try with level 4. I think my lectures bored them, but I’m not sure if they’re too old for art projects. I’m going to try to give more lessons using the actual telescope and the art supplies.
These kids really don’t have much. They come to school wearing torn and dirty clothes. Some children wear the same thing everyday. A lot of the level 1 and 2 kids seem really sick. Again, I’ve seen lots of open and scarred sores, rashes, patches of hair missing. One little girl has a bright red eye and small open sores on her cheeks.

Even though they have so little, sharing is something that they do readily. At lunch, six children will share one bowl of nshima and one bowl of relish. Nshima is a combination of milli meal and white maize flour that is boiled. It is eaten by rolling it into a little ball and then dipping it into relish, which can be a meat dish, a vegetable dish, or buttermilk. For breakfast, each child gets a bowl of porridge and a small mango. Every month, the school distributes a bag of milli meal and white maize flour and a bottle of cooking oil to each child’s family. The sisters told me that food is the only reason that some of the kids come to school.
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