27 Feb
I feel a bit silly with the smile and nod routine when trying to communicate with my patients so I’m resolving to learn a little Chitonga. English may be the official language of Zambia but the vast, vast majority of people speak primarily their tribal language. There are 72 languages in Zambia. In this region that is called Chitonga or Tonga. The men are much more likely to speak English as they have generally received longer education (girls rarely go beyond 7th grade and even that is not common). The kids love screaming “I am fine”, “hello”, etc but that’s about it. I keep wanting to revert to Spanish when my English is failing miserably, but somehow I don’t think that would help much. So you lucky readers get to learn Chitonga with me. Read below for some very common phrases which should come in handy.
Twalumba- Thank You
Mwabuga buti- Good Morning
Ndili mweembezi mubotu- I am a good herdsmen
Hena basokwe balayoowabasiluwe- Are baboons afraid of leopards?
2 March 2009
Obviously still so glad I’m having this opportunity but am afraid I’m entering the fully anticipated “what the heck am I doing here?” phase of the journey. Hopefully it will just last a couple of days and I’ll be back to rose colored glasses. Kevin, the boyfriend figure, asked me last week what I miss most about home. At the time I just rattled off a few people and otherwise nothing came to mind. Of course since then I’ve come up with quite the comprehensive list, 97% food related, 3% brainless TV. Is it bad I’ve been here only 3 weeks and I’m already fantasizing about what to eat when I get home? Not helping the issue is the fact that, after an HIV exposure in the operating room last week, I decided to bite the bullet and start taking HIV prophylaxis. I work with HIV patients pretty frequently at home without giving it any thought. Here it’s just a bit harder to feel safe given the limited resources for personal protective gear. Gloves are thinner and generally the wrong sizes, surgical gowns aren’t waterproof and aren’t worn for anything except major procedures and faceshields aren’t available in the theatre. Thank goodness I wear glasses at least! For those of you who are non-medical, the good news with an occupational exposure is it is a very small less than 0.03% chance of contracting the virus even without meds (and even lower with taking them). The bad news is that I have to take 9 disgusting pills every day for a month that make me feel totally nauseated. So I’m in a little pickle as I probably will be nauseated for the next month or so and the only available foods I don’t hate here are fried chicken and French fries. Not exactly in the jello, ginger ale, saltine family. I suppose it’s time to learn to love Nshima.
Food and nasty pills aside this is a very nice culture. People in the community here are extremely friendly…and very religious. This combination has lead me to receive about 7 or 8 different church invitations so far. I think inviting someone to church is the Zambian equivalent of “let’s meet for coffee”- a safe, public, socially acceptable invitation. Other than 2 people, who seem to be exceptions, everyone here I’ve met goes to church every Sunday. Without saying too much about what I do or don’t believe, let it be said Sunday mornings at home are generally reserved for listening to KFOG’s acoustic sunrise and searching for the perfect brunch. This weekend I got a double glimpse into the religious subcultures in Choma. Experience #1 was Saturday morning after rounds I went with Dr Johnson to the final vows of a woman becoming a nun. Not being Catholic I wasn’t quite sure what this entailed. I ended up having a great time and got to witness some beautiful Zambian singing and dancing at the ceremony. Afterwards there was a reception at a local school for children with disabilities. At home this would have likely consisted of grabbing cake and saying congrats. In true Zambian fashion (or so I’m told) the reception included a very elaborate program- with an emcee, numerous speeches from various community members, a procession presenting gifts to the new sister, a luncheon, several songs by the school’s phenomenal choir of blind children and a cake cutting ritual of a teenage girl dancing for about 7 minutes with the cake knife.
Religious experience number two of the weekend was going to church on Sunday morning with the people who run the guesthouse I stay at. When they said it was a Pentecostal church I somehow had an idea it was different than anything I’d ever been to in the past but wasn't really sure. When I walked into the church there was a pretty much empty sanctuary with a very small enclosed area. Behind the wall was what sounded like about 20 people screaming wildly and singing. Eventually the room filled up with people attending service. The people behind the wall turned out to be the choir. Things started out pretty standard protestant service (except with great African music and more dancing). Then after a few songs things became a little more free form with people yelling out various songs, prayers or whatever else. Being someone who gets self conscious singing Happy Birthday, I didn't have much to contribute to the mayhem. The sermon was quite heated- lots of hallelujahs, amens, and talking of demons and satan. Subsequently they sang some more songs while about 30% of the people fainted,
appearing to be having seizures or speaking in tongues. Had I been in the hospital lobby I would have probably called a code if I saw people collapsing like this, but I suspected all was well and decided to stay in my seat. Everyone recovered just fine and then wished each other a good week and headed out for tea. I returned to the hospital to round then needed a nap. We'll see what's on tap for next Sunday
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