Plucked!

I buy chicken from the grocery store in a tidy package.  The other day while visiting my friend Holly I saw how it all happens.  The Africans got a kick out of me taking photos of chickens getting plucked.

Looks like fun, wouldn't you agree? 

Decapitated chickens R.I.P.

Little did they know their fate...

I ate one of these chickens the other day, and I treasured the meat, because I had a connection to the bird.  I didn't butcher it myself (maybe later), but I know who did.  I'm such a hypocrite.   

Isaac's 6th Birthday party!

It's great to have an October birthday party in Zambia, 'cause it's boiling hot!  Isaac invited some pals from school.  (He and Alex are the only Americans in these photos.)

How to have a water fight:

First take some boys...

Add some girls.  

 The girls may look innocent, but within minutes of this photo there was full-fledged warfare in my backyard.

Add water balloons.

When balloons are gone, get the hose.

Almost 10 years of marriage and this is what my spouse does to me.

Rope swing!

Cheap quality (but expensive!) birthday candles that wouldn't light.

Alexandra sharing some cake.

*Thank you Laura Menenberg for the photos!

Dutch Market Drama

“What is drama but life with the dull bits cut out.”— Alfred Hitchcock

"You are NOT allowed to sell your cupcakes at out market," Elizabeth told me last Monday.  "We can't have you competing with our slices of cake."  

This was a problem.  My partner-in-crime, Gretta*, had friends who'd recently hauled four cupcake caddies from Canada.  Over the last five months we'd perfected our recipes and designs.  We had hundreds of cupcake liners. And now, a few days from from Market Day, the Dutch Market Ladies threw us a curveball.

Our friends rallied behind us in solidarity.  One threatened to go on a hunger strike.  Others offered to circulate a petition.  Another woman, who is on the women's committee at the church, said she would fight for us on the "inside."

But it is the Dutch Church's market, so they get to make the rules, whether we like it or not.  

Gretta and I researched our options and got our game plan together.  We meditated on this idea:

"When life gives you lemons, 

make lemonade, 

and then figure out how to sell it for $5 a glass."

So we baked wicked-good brownies (with tons of real butter and cocoa) and sugar cookie bouquets decorated in royal icing.   Our fancy designs included Jack O'Lanterns and spider webs.

It was a ton of work, and we probably made about twenty-five cents an hour.  However, we not only sold everything, but we had a local coffee shop ask us to make cookies for them on a regular basis.

My favorite moment of the day was when the cheese vendor next to us expressed concern about Oliver.  He was sleeping with his mouth WIDE open, and she was convinced he would swallow a fly (...perhaps he'll die!).  We got to chatting and I brought up that he has Down syndrome.  Her face lit up and she said, "Really?  I'm studying Special Education at the University of Zambia, and we NEVER get to interact with kids with special needs."  

"Ha!" I said.  "Wait right here.  I have someone to introduce you to."  

I found the Nelsons from Special Hope Network, and I'm sure they have already recruited her to work with disabled kids in the compounds.  (By the way, don't forget my finder's fee, Nelsons!)

After a full day at the market, Eric and I spent the evening relaxing, er, hosting a BBQ for 30 people at our home--many of the same kindred spirits who were willing to fight for our cupcakes.  

All in all, it was a pretty amazing weekend for everyone except Isaac, who was kept in quarantine due to viral conjunctivitis.  Don't worry, I gave him a cookie.

*Name changed to protect the guilty.  

  

Don't Kubeba! (Shh..)

Don't Kubeba!  (Shh...)

Yesterday we packed our evacuation bags.  We were ready to flee Zambia at a moment's notice.

Our sweet, peace-loving Zambia threatened to erupt into full-blown violence,  if the opposition candidate didn't win.

We prepared for the worst as we waited for the electoral commission to release the final results.

Alex and Isaac asked me how I knew that the "bad guys weren't going to kill us."  I explained we'd be fine if we stayed home and avoided town.  So we planned a game night with friends and waited to hear the announcement scheduled for 6pm.

At 6 pm:  no results.  At 8 pm:  no results.  At 10 pm:  no results.  

Our friends went home and we headed to bed.  At 2 am I heard sirens, horns, and noisy crowds.  Either the world was going to hell, or there was a celebration in the streets.  Or both.

Mr. Michael Sata finally won the presidency and the city was ecstatic.  It still is.

The reason is simple:   Zambians felt like their voices were finally heard.

I have to hand it to Mr. Sata.  He had a brilliant strategy called: Don't Kubeba!  (Shh...)

He encouraged voters to pretend like they were supporting the incumbent president, but then secretly vote for Mr. Sata. This strategy resonated with the Zambian voters.  

Even my friend, draped in a Rupiah Banda chitenge (sarong) on election day confessed, "I voted for Sata.  Shhh!"  Then she grinned.  

So this morning, as President Sata was sworn into office, the city exploded, not in violence, but in jubilee.  Zambians tell me that they change has finally come to their country.

I rejoice with my neighbors.  I pray that President Sata will eliminate corruption, and bring prosperity to all Zambians.  

But as former President Banda said in his concession speech, "Enjoy the hour [of victory] but remember that a term of government is for years.  Remember that the next election will judge you also."

Let's Get Ready to RUMBLE! (Peacefully, please!)

If we got one-tenth of what was promised to us in these acceptance speeches there wouldn't be any inducement to go to heaven.  ~Will Rogers

Billboard in Lusaka

Election Day is T minus 8 days.  Lusaka is buzzing with anticipation.  

In one corner we have reigning champion President Rupiah Banda.   

In the other corner we have the challenger Mr. Michael Sata.  

There are a handful of other candidates--but like America's Ralph Nader and Ross Perot, they don't stand a chance against these heavyweights.


Dora Siliya,  spokesperson for Banda's party, recently warned villagers that a vote for Sata meant a vote for homosexuality (illegal in Zambia).  She urged the men in the audience to admire her soft bottom.  She also declared that Sata couldn't possibly have human parents.


Sata claims that the current administration will murder him and blame it on his poor health.

Now it is left up to the people to decide who will be the 5th president of Zambia.  

Election Ballots in Truck (Photo Katy Vosburg)

My friend Katy captured this shot:  election ballots being transferred in an open-bed truck.  Don't worry, the guy in the in the back is making sure none fall out.


Here is a close-up of those ballots. 

The Ballots (Photo: Katy Vosburg)

People on both sides are already alleging ballot fraud, and no one has voted yet.  Zambia makes American politics seem a bit bland, doesn't it?

Snapshots of Life

They're adorable when sleeping...

...and when laughing...

...and on the rope swing.

 NO BOYS ALLOWED Club

First Sprinkler!

Moving Day!

Our container arrives.

"The average American moves 11.7 times in a lifetime." --UScensus.gov


After war and famine, moving is one of the most stressful things for a family.  I know, because I've moved our junk treasures nine times in the last five months.  Each time I swear we are going to down-size to...

• a bowl 
• a spoon, and a 
• a change of underwear

...for each person.

In February we loaded all of our earthly possessions into a container.  Six months later it arrived in Lusaka.   It was like Christmas.  The kids got their bikes, I got my Kitchenaid mixer, and Eric got his cordless screw gun.

Boxes!

Not-A-Surprise (#1):  my kids enjoyed the packing supplies more than their toys.

"Look mom, I can carry the apple with no hands."

Issac takes a running jump into the packing papers

Thursday:  Container arrived.  Eric unpacked.  I met with Social Welfare about our adoption application.  (No word on our baby girl...)

Friday:  Eric unpacked.  I helped him.   That night we had friends over to celebrate our move.

Saturday:  Eric unpacked.   Two girlfriends and I sold 150 homemade cupcakes at the Dutch Reformed Market.  This once-a-month market is quite the social event.  Who knew that pig cupcakes would be so popular?  We sold out!

That evening we hosted a BBQ with three other families at our mostly-unpacked home.

It is a wonderful chaos, because after eight months in transition, we are settling down.

Not-A-Surprise (#2):  Even though they have stacks of games, books, and toys, my kids still whine about being bored.  (Only five more days until French school starts!)