Triathlon

On April 13th the American School of Lusaka hosted its annual Triathlon. We entered a team in the "sprint" version. Emily dominated the swimming and Paul finished the run in no time. My part was biking 14km of bumpy trails. I looked like a real nerd the whole time, having to race with my bike lock on as I forgot the key. Even an unanticipated second lap of the course wasn't enough to stop me though and I finished, eventually. It was a fun, and humbling, day (too many fit friends).

Stats for team Panda Express:

15th out of 29 teams

Total time: 1:00:31 (fastest team time: 49:50)

Number of times we fell off our bikes: 0

(Team Panda Express)

Sailing Kariba

I find that April is a month that’s equally great in the US or Zambia. In Boston, it’s the true start of spring; in Zambia it’s the ideal balance of hot and cold, wet and dry. This April started off even better than usual thank to a lead in from the Easter long weekend. We traveled down to Lake Kariba, one of the closest vacation spots to Lusaka, and crossed onto the Zimbabwe side. From there we drove to the Cutty Sark Hotel, which we reached after only a few wrong turns, where we found our lodging for the weekend; four catamarans waiting for us on shore. After transferring all the coolers, food and bags from the car, and listening to a conspicuously brief sailing tutorial from our guides, we were handed sole command of our ships and turned loose on the lake.

We spent the first few hours finding our sea legs and getting a feel for the boats. By the time we had our tacking and jibing down and were comfortably cruising we realized we were pretty far from the other three boats. To our concern, two of the boats appeared to be motoring together off into the distance. Concluding that we must’ve missed a planning session, we quickly set a course in their direction and kicked our motor into high gear. Looking over our shoulders we clucked in dismay as the last boat shrank to a white dot in the distance. We tried texting and calling, in vain, to get them to start their motor and hurry after us.

The sun went down before us, a very beautiful splash of color silhouetting the island ahead and setting fire to the water around us. It was around this time that the last boat finally got through to our phones. Their motor had broken while trying to “rescue” a shipmate that had been thrown overboard. They had been drifting listlessly, without power or wind, for the last few hours that we had been motoring away. In their retelling of the story, they would claim they thought it was the end and had made their peace with God, which explains why they’d gone through almost their entire liquor allocation for the weekend. The three working boats consolidated ourselves onto two and sent one of the guides back for the stranded catamaran while we went to make camp at the island. As it was already getting dark by this point, we weren’t too hopeful about seeing our friends anytime soon.

(Photo credit: Jonny P)

Once we hit sand at the edge of the island we tied the remaining two boats together and started preparing dinner. The stars were coming out in force and before long almost everything above us was alight; the Milky Way a stroke of white paint across the sky, so bright its reflection shimmered in the black water. Then came moonrise. Like a great ego it lifted from behind the Zimbabwean hills, heavy and red; nearly full. It outshone everything else in the sky, its presence adding even more to the romanticism of our evening. In much less time than we were expecting we saw the twinkling of flashlights and heard the shouts from the two approaching boats, one towing the other. Reunited, they regaled us with their ordeal over dinner, after which we fell asleep one by one on mats and blankets lain on the decks of the boats under huge mosquito nets hung from the masts, the wind blowing through the rigging.

I woke up to sunrise peeking through the tall grass on the island, waving in the morning breeze. For a moment I thought I was on Cape Cod, but the grunting of a nearby pod of hippos quickly brought me back. We spent the day on the water. When there was wind we sailed, when there wasn’t, we drifted, played cards, jumped in the water (when we were far from shore), and generally lounged around the boat. We sailed past wildlife; elephants grazing on shore, hippos basking in the shallows. At intervals we brought the boats together but we spent the majority of the time on our own. One of my favorite parts of the day was navigating the boat under wind power through an area of petrified trees jutting out of the water. We went fishing as the sun was setting, and some of the catches were big enough to be featured on the menu that night. We ate together at one long table; a fire behind us, the water before us and the stars above us.

We got an early start the next morning, Easter Sunday, as our destination was a long way off and we needed to take advantage of the wind. That morning we had the best sailing of the weekend, really picking up speed and covering some ground before the wind died down around lunch. We stopped off at a nearby island then met up with the other boats on the other side for the final leg back to the hotel. Hanging off the boat as we pulled close to our cove I realized how stress-free and happy I was. It was a restoring few days of good food, good company and a beautiful environment.  I think most of us would agree that this was one of the nicest, easiest and most relaxing weekend trips we’d ever been on.

Mutinondo (Or, a Pit Crew in Training)

March is the month of long weekends in Zambia. Taking time to recognize everything from youth, women and the resurrection of a certain carpenter requires significant leave from work. Zambia is a large, spread out country and going anywhere outside Lusaka is usually a hike. These long weekends offer a perfect chance to visit those destinations which are typically just out of reach.

Our destination of choice this time was Mutinondo, a park situated in the north not too far from where the bat migration takes place. In the early morning hours we crammed ourselves and all our gear into two trusty RAV 4s and set off on the 7 hour journey. Back home, driving 7 hours south would take me to four states, through at least six significant metropolitan centers, and past countless rest stops and restaurants. Here, there’s only one that matters: Fig Tree Café. Sometimes I think it’s the only reason I go out of town. It’s a bright point in an early morning drive, coming at the exact moment when you start to come down from that initial start-of-vacation high.

Not long after our morning communion with baked goods and coffee we were forced to pull over. The leading car had a flat, but between the two cars we scrounged together all the necessary equipment and got to work with surprising efficiency. In no time we had it changed and were back on track; no sweat. In the next town we’d repair the flat and keep ourselves covered. However, once there we learned the flat was unfixable, and, it being a holiday, there wasn’t anywhere to buy a new tire. Then we learned the spare on the other car was also unusable. The best we could do would be to put a tube in the flat, which we did, in case the worst happened, which it did. 

A few hours later the spare loudly and messily gave up the ghost. Its death throes of flying rubber shredded the mud flap to bits and shore off part of the bumper. We limped into a rural church and, under the watchful eye of some Witnesses (now I know why they're not called Helpers) we, for the third time that day, removed the bike rack, took off the spare (punctured but filled with a tube) jacked the car up and replaced the tire. By that time we all had our assigned roles in the process and were actually getting quite fast about it. After the car was back together we congratulated ourselves then set off at a much more cautious pace, negotiating the last 20 km of dirt road as gingerly as possible.

All this stress and excitement made us that much more appreciative of the magnificent wilderness we were entering. A fault runs below the area through which magma has bubbled up creating clusters of rounded, purple black hills surrounded by flat terrain. Rivers cut through the volcanic rock resulting in a number of strikingly beautiful waterfalls. A minimum of dangerous land and water wildlife means these hills are prime for exploration. Over the course of the weekend we hiked, biked and swam our way across the reserve; jumping off waterfalls, scrambling over mountains and bushwhacking through the trees. While it makes me shudder a bit now, it was a good thing for the enjoyment level at the time that we learned about black mamba encounters (and chases) in that area after we’d come back.

It was good to take time away from the city, surrounded by trees and water and stars. It’s always good to get away from exhaust and congestion for a while, to eat campfire meals and be in the sun and spend entire days at a time outdoors. It’s also good to be away from home if only because you appreciate it more when you come back. For example, I’m glad to be near other people, and not hundreds of km from anyone, when the unexpected happens. We had yet another flat tire on the way back, but this time we were without any working spare. Very luckily for us, we had just reached a town where we found a second-hand tire that, while not quite the right size, was able to fit on the car (though not before it took us an hour to figure out how to the flat off the car). It was also good to be in a bed again. Some heavy rain at night, and the fact that I’d accidentally brought a damaged tent, led to a couple restless nights of sleeping in the car. Still, let it be said that not one of these setbacks detracted from the experience. It’s hard to feel anything but good in a place like that.

New Additions

It's been a great month thanks to two recent additions to life here.

First, say hello to our newest roommate, Spartacus.

You'd be surprised how quickly you can get used to calling a dog "Sparta."

Second, meet my new car (name suggestions welcome): a secondhand Rav4 direct from Japan via South Africa.

Having wheels again is definitely a game changer.

Stars | A Take Away Show

One of my favorite Blogoteque videos featuring two very well-performed songs.

Happy Valentines Day!

(Stars: "Your Ex-Lover is Dead", "How Much More")

Tufts in Zambia

Last Thursday we held the inaugural Tufts in Zambia alumni gathering, the realization of over a year of planning. Considering the university’s focus on international and health issues, it's not so surprising to find alumni working somewhere like Zambia. Still, the number of Jumbos in Lusaka is so high that it seemed necessary that we get together and meet. The profiles of the attendees spanned a range of disciplines and careers. Fletcher, the School of Arts and Sciences, and the School of Engineering were all represented. The guest list was impressive; even the US Ambassador is a Jumbo! (a double Jumbo if you count his attendance at the Eliot-Pearson daycare center)

We sat down after work over appetizers and a special Tufts cocktail at Plates, my favorite local restaurant owned by a Tufts '08 grad. It was an opportunity to share and learn from the different paths others had taken between graduation and their current job. Of course it was also a chance to trade funny and sentimental stories from our time at school, my personal favorites involving a guilt-ridden kidnapping of an Abraham Lincoln cutout. We gathered around the Tufts banner for the requisite group photo which we can only hope to see in an upcoming issue of the university magazine. It was an enjoyable night and nice to feel the Tufts spirit again. Thanks to everyone who helped make it happen, especially Rachel for providing the venue and Omar for bringing it all together.

The Country that Cried Wolf

If you’ve been following this year’s Africa Cup of Nations, you’ll know that Tuesday wasn’t a great day here. All of Zambia let out a collective groan that night as we watched qualification to the quarterfinals slip through the fingers of the national team. Unable to score against Burkina Faso, the defending champions made an early exit from the tournament; an underwhelming performance in the face of overblown expectations.

After the euphoria of last year, the disappointment was deflating. Fans took it on the chin though; there was little blaming or finger pointing and praise could still be heard for the players and team. Still, the day had a noticeably subdued air. Until about 4:30, which is when the city went mad.

I was riding the bus into town, waiting in a queue to turn into the station, when another bus went speeding past on our left, the driver laying on the horn. It might not have caught my attention, but there was an unusual amount of noise coming from the station as well; something was amiss. More cars now laying on more horns, and the lowing of vuvuzelas could be heard over top. I wracked my brain, unable to remember if there was a match today that could cause such excitement. I hopped out of the bus and questioned the first jubilant person I saw. To my disbelief, he told me Zambia had just qualified for the quarterfinals. Wondering if he had missed the game the previous night, I asked him how this was possible. He told me Burkina Faso had used a player with a red card in the match, a breach of rules that would strip them of their points and award them to Zambia, putting us through to the next round. Immediately catching his enthusiasm, I started high fiving everyone around me.

The whole station was going crazy; people were running around waving their scarves and flags, buses sat empty as drivers and passengers alike milled about, discussing the good fortune. I still couldn’t quite believe it, but when we boarded the bus, over the rising din outside, I could hear them discussing this turn of events on the radio. Well that did it for me, I was sold. Could this many people be wrong? It’s even on the radio! I texted friends and joined into excited conversations. As we rolled through standstill traffic we waved at pedestrians and motorists; our smiling faces reflected back at us, flags waving everywhere. What luck! What unbelievable luck, I thought to myself in amusement, glowing in the knowledge that it wasn’t going to end so quietly.

Well it certainly was unbelievable. As we progressed out of the downtown madness, the warmth of belief ceded more and more to a cold, gnawing doubt. How could no one have noticed that player already had a red card? Out of the coaching staff, the ref, or all the fans watching, it just didn’t make sense. Desperate for some confirmation, I opened up my laptop on the bus and, heart sinking, found no trace of the story in the news. On comes the radio announcer, pleading for everyone to calm down, to stop flooding the station with calls, that no one could say for sure yet whether this was true. That’s when I knew, and judging by the quiet on the bus, everyone else was coming to the same realization: we were all participants in a massive and incredibly pervasive rumor machine.

In the end Zambia stayed eliminated, but even with this second round of disappointment it was still a glorious half hour. For a brief moment, we got to believe in luck and the unexpected. What was most telling about all of this was how we ate it up. It could’ve been a case study for mob mentality, or how easily people will believe what they want to. Pushing any critical thinking to the side, we lost ourselves in the belief that second chances do exist, and buoyed each other in this blissful conviction. It was pretty shocking, the sheer number of people who participated in this delusion and the speed at which it spread. But this was no fair weather turnaround. There was no about-face of loyalties, no case of criticism magically turning to celebration. This country loves its team, in success or failure. No one had to quickly put their jerseys back on or their flags back up; they were already on, they’d never come down.