Pattering with Ex-Pats

Well, I guess I am starting to find my footing. Work is busy as all get-out, with a pile of clinical guidelines to transform into wall charts, and the upcoming month of September shaping up to be entirely in the rural districts (including an 8 day stay in a village about 4 hours outside of Lusaka).  An American co-worker, who will go with me for part of it, was asking a Zambian colleague about what we might do over the weekend while we’re there. The conversation went something like this: “So, what is there to do on Sunday?” “Church.” “Oh.” “Are you Baptist?” “No.” (Silence).

Although  while work has been hard, we’ve been finding time to play hard as well. This week should be labeled, “An introduction to Ex-Pat life in Zambia.” I spent Wednesday evening playing pub quiz at the local hostel, which is a regular activity for what is becoming my social circle (a group of co-workers and their friends). This was populated with far, far too many alcohol-sodden 19-year-olds on gap year. It was also distinctly different than quiz nights in the US, where I often feel the point is to be able to answer questions. Evidently, the point here is to stump your audience (What year was the first rowing race between Oxford and Cambridge? Or, How many points is a blue circle on an archery target worth?). Over the weekend, I also took part in the Hash House Harrier’s. Totally new experience, but very much enjoyed it. Running through the African bush, trying to dodge the branches covered in 2” thorns, and falling into cattle-holes at top speed while looking for little piles of trail marking confetti – awesome. Not to mention the cold pints at the end!

While I am loving the new faces and aspects of life, I was a tiny bit unnerved by the whole thing. I found the vast majority of the Ex-Pats friendly, interesting, and well meaning. On the other hand, I was surprised by the casual way some people talked about strategies to not get the hired staff to steal, or the “laziness” of the population, or the inability to get good cheese here (okay, I sympathize with that one).  I also felt strangely disconnected all week from the point of my being here. It would be too easy just to transfer a life in the comfortable US for an almost equivalently cush life here in Zambia, and forget all about the principles that push me to do this. I can’t forget the statistics that seem to get buried in the luxury of the Ex-Pat scene; that for the 200,000 or so middle or upper class people in Lusaka, there are 1.8 million others who live in the slums and struggle to live on pennies a day. Though it may be fun every now and then to wander through the Dutch Farmer’s Market, or to take a run with the Harriers, I also need to keep myself grounded in reality. Just remind me of that next time I’m grumping about some nonsense that doesn’t matter.