Monday, September 8th
Monday started with an early alarm (5am), and the aforementioned lukewarm shower. Our "lodge" also had breakfast, which turned out to be disgusting. As a former British colony, Zambia has many remnants of British influence, and breakfast seems to be one of them. Our breakfast each day all week, at 3 different lodges, was identical. Fried eggs, sausage link, cold baked beans, cold undercooked chips (fries), untoasted white bread, and tea. At the lodges later in the week, the quality was ok at least, but the Cheshire Lodge breakfast was just nasty. Stale and sour-tasting bread, ice cold beans, and weird-smelling/tasting eggs. Gross. I barely ate anything.
We left for a 2+ hour drive to our first stop of the day, which was the offices of the District Commissioner of Lukulu District in the town of Lukulu.
Our first stop in Lukulu was at the office of the District Commissioner; since we met a lot of government officials this week, it’s probably helpful to do a quick rundown of the titles so I don’t confuse people (or myself):
Provincial Permanent Secretary: Chief executive official of each province in Zambia; the closest U.S. equivalent would be the Governor of a state. The Western Province Permanent Secretary was very sick and in Lusaka for treatment, so we met his Deputy who was serving as Acting Permanent Secretary.
District Commissioner: Chief executive official of each district within Western Province; closest U.S. equivalent here is a County Executive or someone similar.
Provincial Health Officer: Chief health officer for Western Province; U.S. equivalent would be a state-level Secretary of Health or Health Department Director.
District Director of Health/Health Officer: Chief health officer of each district; equivalent to a county or municipal Health Department director.
Mayor of Mongu: Chief executive of a town or local government, same as we'd think of it.
Upon arriving at the government offices in the town of Lukulu, we were invited into the DC’s office for a short meeting. This followed the same script as about 10 other meetings we would have all week: a staffer for the official would introduce and explain briefly who we were, the official would introduce himself (all males, unfortunately), Chris would introduce himself and explain why we were visiting and the objective of our overall roadtrip (he had a script down pat), we would introduce ourselves individually, we would chat a bit and do a two-way Q&A, we would thank the official for having us and present him with some gifts (posters, booklets, pens, and usually a nicer book of some kind for the official himself), then we would go sign the official’s visitors book.
Each official’s office was set up almost identically, which I also found amusing. After entering the door, the official’s desk would be facing the door close to the back wall of the office (usually in the center, but once off to the right). The other three walls of the office would be lined with couches and chairs for visitors, and if there was enough space in the center there might be a small coffee table. Some of them even had exact furniture (lots of maroon faux-velvet couches and chairs), and many were painted this odd robin’s egg blue that is used a lot in Zambia (all the taxis and mini-buses, most schools, and lots of other buildings are painted this color on the bottom half, then white on the top; I can’t figure out why and nobody I’ve asked seems to know).
The Lukulu DC turned out to be a real character. He was dressed in black suit, shirt, and tie, and pointed out almost right away that he was serving as “Chief Mourner” for his District during the mourning period for President Mwanawasa. I don’t know if this is a great honor or just an additional bureaucratic title, but this was funny for two reasons: 1) he repeated this about 5 or 6 times during our entire visit that day, and 2) while he was dressed to mourn down to his ankles, he had these hilarious bright white-and-black patent leather dress shoes with long toes that extended to a near-point about 3 inches past where his toes must have been. He was really nice and ended up joking around with us throughout the day, and we all liked him, but we couldn’t help but enjoy his outfit; we decided his suit said “mourning,” but his shoes said “Mardi Gras.” To the left is a photo of him, party shoes visible.
After the meeting, we all piled into our SUVs for the drive to Mitete, where we were attending the ribbon cutting ceremony for a new health clinic funded by CDC. Mitete is a tiny village north of Lukulu, and is beyond rural; the drive there was about 45 minutes through sandy trails (see right) that couldn’t be called roads by any reasonable definition, and then we had to cross a river by barge, then another hour or so through even rougher trails and through brush. The barge over the river only held one car at a time and took about 30 minutes per car to load, cross, unload, and return empty, so we hung out at the river for quite a while between driving legs.
Monday started with an early alarm (5am), and the aforementioned lukewarm shower. Our "lodge" also had breakfast, which turned out to be disgusting. As a former British colony, Zambia has many remnants of British influence, and breakfast seems to be one of them. Our breakfast each day all week, at 3 different lodges, was identical. Fried eggs, sausage link, cold baked beans, cold undercooked chips (fries), untoasted white bread, and tea. At the lodges later in the week, the quality was ok at least, but the Cheshire Lodge breakfast was just nasty. Stale and sour-tasting bread, ice cold beans, and weird-smelling/tasting eggs. Gross. I barely ate anything.
We left for a 2+ hour drive to our first stop of the day, which was the offices of the District Commissioner of Lukulu District in the town of Lukulu.Our first stop in Lukulu was at the office of the District Commissioner; since we met a lot of government officials this week, it’s probably helpful to do a quick rundown of the titles so I don’t confuse people (or myself):
Provincial Permanent Secretary: Chief executive official of each province in Zambia; the closest U.S. equivalent would be the Governor of a state. The Western Province Permanent Secretary was very sick and in Lusaka for treatment, so we met his Deputy who was serving as Acting Permanent Secretary.
District Commissioner: Chief executive official of each district within Western Province; closest U.S. equivalent here is a County Executive or someone similar.Provincial Health Officer: Chief health officer for Western Province; U.S. equivalent would be a state-level Secretary of Health or Health Department Director.
District Director of Health/Health Officer: Chief health officer of each district; equivalent to a county or municipal Health Department director.
Mayor of Mongu: Chief executive of a town or local government, same as we'd think of it.
Upon arriving at the government offices in the town of Lukulu, we were invited into the DC’s office for a short meeting. This followed the same script as about 10 other meetings we would have all week: a staffer for the official would introduce and explain briefly who we were, the official would introduce himself (all males, unfortunately), Chris would introduce himself and explain why we were visiting and the objective of our overall roadtrip (he had a script down pat), we would introduce ourselves individually, we would chat a bit and do a two-way Q&A, we would thank the official for having us and present him with some gifts (posters, booklets, pens, and usually a nicer book of some kind for the official himself), then we would go sign the official’s visitors book.Each official’s office was set up almost identically, which I also found amusing. After entering the door, the official’s desk would be facing the door close to the back wall of the office (usually in the center, but once off to the right). The other three walls of the office would be lined with couches and chairs for visitors, and if there was enough space in the center there might be a small coffee table. Some of them even had exact furniture (lots of maroon faux-velvet couches and chairs), and many were painted this odd robin’s egg blue that is used a lot in Zambia (all the taxis and mini-buses, most schools, and lots of other buildings are painted this color on the bottom half, then white on the top; I can’t figure out why and nobody I’ve asked seems to know).
The Lukulu DC turned out to be a real character. He was dressed in black suit, shirt, and tie, and pointed out almost right away that he was serving as “Chief Mourner” for his District during the mourning period for President Mwanawasa. I don’t know if this is a great honor or just an additional bureaucratic title, but this was funny for two reasons: 1) he repeated this about 5 or 6 times during our entire visit that day, and 2) while he was dressed to mourn down to his ankles, he had these hilarious bright white-and-black patent leather dress shoes with long toes that extended to a near-point about 3 inches past where his toes must have been. He was really nice and ended up joking around with us throughout the day, and we all liked him, but we couldn’t help but enjoy his outfit; we decided his suit said “mourning,” but his shoes said “Mardi Gras.” To the left is a photo of him, party shoes visible.
After the meeting, we all piled into our SUVs for the drive to Mitete, where we were attending the ribbon cutting ceremony for a new health clinic funded by CDC. Mitete is a tiny village north of Lukulu, and is beyond rural; the drive there was about 45 minutes through sandy trails (see right) that couldn’t be called roads by any reasonable definition, and then we had to cross a river by barge, then another hour or so through even rougher trails and through brush. The barge over the river only held one car at a time and took about 30 minutes per car to load, cross, unload, and return empty, so we hung out at the river for quite a while between driving legs. 
When we finally arrived at the clinic, there was an audience of about 200 people gathered to greet us. Unfortunately I had fallen asleep in the car and was groggy as hell and didn’t realize until it was too late that I was one of 3 guests of honor along with Chris and James. I’m not sure if it was because we were white, American, or because the Zambians in our party preferred to stay in the background, but it seemed that the 3 of us were the default central figures at every event all week; I didn’t realize this right away point because the clinic was the first event with a formal program. Stumbling out of the SUV half-asleep, I also forgot my suit jacket and felt underdressed the entire time.
The 3 of us sat at the table of honor in the center of the crowd, and the rest of our delegation sat behind us. It would have been more surreal if I were awake, but at that point I was still squinting and struggling. The program started with the singing of the Zambian National Anthem while we all stood at attention, and then a moment of silence for President Mwanawasa. Next was a drama skit on HIV/AIDS that I thought was decent, but I didn’t follow it all because I was getting a translation whispered to me and missed a lot.
Next up were an insufferable series of speeches, also a hallmark of any Zambian formal event. We heard from the District Director of Health, the Provincial Health Director, the District Commissioner, a local traditional (i.e. Lozi tribe) representative, and Chris speaking for our delegation. Then we saw another drama skit on tuberculosis, and then proceeded to the entrance of the clinic for a real-live ribbon cutting. The Mitete Rural Health Center and VCT Lab was “supported” by CDC, which basically means CDC paid for everything that we could under current law, including lab equipment, furnishings, and certain utility systems (I believe); the U.S. government was prohibited from spending money for construction of buildings for the first 5 years of PEPFAR. Starting in 2009, we now have that authority and will be able to pay for construction going forward. VCT stands for voluntary counseling and testing (for HIV).
Chris cut the ribbon with the DC, we did photos, and then took a tour of the clinic. The clinic itself was very small and sparsely furnished, but was new and nice. It consisted of a waiting room, about 3 small private counseling rooms, a small laboratory, and a couple small offices. An older building at the clinic offers some other services, but it wasn’t that large and we didn’t tour so I don’t know what it had. It’s humbling to think that not only is this the ONLY health facility serving thousands of people, most of them have to travel as much as 200 kilometers just to get there.
The ceremony closed by having us back to the table of honor, where we would hand over our gifts, thank everyone, and then have soft drinks and biscuits (cookies). I HATED this part of each ceremony, because inevitably we would be served food and drink while tons of other people (usually local folks and children) looked on and didn’t get any. This killed me, because most clearly didn’t have the money to enjoy Coke, Fanta, and snacks regularly, and all looked on longingly. I guess I could have abstained, but then I felt guilty for refusing the hospitality of the officials and staff at all the facilities who were very proud to be serving us refreshments. Let me tell you, nothing is as humbling as drinking cold Coke on a hot day while being stared at by poor African children. If you’ve never experienced feeling like a rich, spoiled piece of shit, I’d recommend you try that.
The drive back was as bumpy and slow as the drive out, and we got stuck in the sand a few times. When we were about 1km from the river, we realized the 3rd car wasn’t behind us anymore, so after unloading everyone on the bank, one of the cars went back to see what was up. They didn’t show up for about a half hour, so we crossed the river with the first car and left a couple folks on the bank.
I had fun hanging out by the river; there were a bunch of kids swimming and hanging out that I tried to talk to (and failed spectacularly), but I gave a few of them chocolates and checked out the fish that some guys were trying to sell us. Apparently there are crocodiles and hippos in the river, but they stay away from the crossing point because of all the traffic and the barge’s motor. Every so often, a long canoe would row by with a couple fishermen, and as the sun went down it was really peaceful.After we arrived on the Lukulu side of the river, we got the third car on the phone and found out they had stalled out in the sand. After they all got out, Norman the driver was finally (after stalling a couple more times) to get it out of the sand, and the other folks told him to keep moving so he wouldn’t stall. Chris, James, the DC, and one or two others walked the rest of the way to the river, giving them a bit of a workout and something to complain about for the rest of the week (in good fun).
By the time we had all the cars and people across the river, we realized we wouldn’t be able to make our next event before dark due to the delays. We were scheduled to visit a refugee camp and tour their school and other facilities there with a representative from the United Nations High Commission on Refugees (UNHCR), and speak with some children. The camp is populated by about 12,000 refugees from Angola, and the U.S. government has supported food rations, HIV/AIDS care and treatment, built a high school, and supported some limited repatriation activities to help those who want to return to Angola now that the country is stable. The problem, however, is that most of the refugees at such camps were born in Zambia and are more culturally Zambian than Angolan, but aren’t eligible for Zambian citizenship so they exist in this weird legal and practical limbo that I don’t fully understand. I was really looking forward to the visit, but they don’t allow visitors after 6pm/dark, and it was still an hour drive away when we finally finished crossing the river at about 5:15pm.
We made an executive decision not to return to Kaoma but instead to drive directly to our next stop of Mongu, which added about 30 minutes to our drive that night (2 hours total), but saved 90 minutes the next day. The drive to Mongu was really nice, on a well-maintained dirt road, so not super smooth but we were able to go pretty fast the whole way. It got dark during the first hour, and it was kind of fun-spooky as we’d pass homesteads with varying size fires every kilometer or so (apparently sometimes in the dry season, people just light the brush for heat and light, so some were pretty bright). We stopped at a police checkpoint to verify our route, and Elizabeth and our driver Ali bought some cassava from a woman on the side of the road; they bought everything she had (probably like 10 lbs.), and I don’t think she could have been any happier if we gave her our car. After starting off again, we hit two birds (sadly) but otherwise had a really peaceful drive.
Our itinerary change was also beneficial because our lodging in Mongu was MUCH better; the first night we split up due to room availability, with myself and a couple others staying at Crossroads Lodge, and the rest at Country Lodge, where we would spend the rest of the week. When we got to Crossroads, we also realized both birds we hit (not sure what kind, but gray/white and each the size of a large crow) were still stuck in the grill of the SUV. Ewww.Crossroads was actually really nice (by Zambian standards), probably comparable to a nicer Days Inn or something. It was very clean, which was all I cared about. I skipped dinner and just munched on granola bars and raisins and passed the hell out.
Day 2, in sum, rocked.
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