Licensed to Drive

My first traffic ticket in my life!

"It was harder to get my driver's license than to get pregnant and give birth."--Julie Bowen

I got a traffic ticket a few months back, because I got caught breaking the law.*

It started with a harebrained idea to avoid a police checkpoint, because I knew they'd ask for my driver's license.   I do have a legal USA driver's license, but Zambian law states (somewhere) that you must get a Zambian license within three months.  Considering it had been nearly 1 1/2 years and I still didn't have one, I'd  be fined (and rightly so).  Granted...I could have lied.  I could have told the officer that I'd only been in Zambia for 2 months and HE WOULDN'T HAVE KNOWN.

But I didn't lie, because it is wrong to lie, and my children and my PARENTS were with me.  That's when I made a U-turn before the roadblock and avoided the whole situation completely.

Come to find out, that's illegal and WAY worse than lacking a Zambian driver's license.  The officer in the unmarked police car scolded me and fined me $100 for "dangerous driving".

Just then my friend Megan drove by us.  I flagged her down, because she's bragged about getting pulled over twenty-something times and never paying a fine.  I asked her to work some of her magic.

She tried all of the tricks in the book:  explaining that we were going to an orphanage (which was true), pleading in the local language, and telling them that we'd pay our fine at the police station later.  The officer smiled and said, "I'm sorry, I'll have to impound your car until you pay the fine."

Then came the ever-so-subtle question:  How much are you willing to pay?

This is the cue to slip the officer $10.  Which, to be completely honest, I'd have been delighted to do.

"I'm sorry, we are Christians.  We don't pay bribes," Megan apologized.  And that's when my ticket went from $10 back to $100.

"Ok, then give me $50," he said and issued us the official receipt.

Megan chipped in $10, we paid the fine and got the heck out of there. 

This nonsense encouraged me to buck up and get my license.  The dilemma was my provisional license was expired, so I needed special authorization for my temporary license.  Seems straightforward, but there is no straightforward in Zambia. 

This is the actual prayer I prayed as we walked into one of the obscure branches of the Department of Licensing:

"God, please give us a female officer who is in a good mood today and will forgive us for our trespasses and issue us a driver's license for no penalty." 

He answered my prayer to a T and Eric and I went home with our temporary driver's licences. A few weeks later I got my final license (which was at a 4th DOL location in Lusaka.  Sheesh...talk about the mother of all scavenger hunts to get something done. Just saying...)

I now carry my Zambian license like a badge of honor. You can imagine my disappointment when I'd passed through several police checkpoints over the following weeks, and not a single officer asked to see it.

One day I'd had enough, so I begged an officer to please, please, please ask to see my license, because I was dying to show it to someone.  She smiled and obliged. 

She then thanked me and let me go on my merry way.





*One day I'll write about the 3 times I've been mistakenly pulled over for "speeding". 

South Luangwa

Yes?

"Never fear quarrels, but seek hazardous adventures." --Alexander Dumas

Alexander Dumas speaks the Showell language, that's for sure.  Our latest "hazardous adventure" included loading my parents, kids, husband, and me into the car for a 10-hour trip to South Luangwa National Park*.

I mean, what could be more quarrel-inducing than being confined in a small space with the following?

• a 4-year old who sure-as-heck wasn't going to sit still for more than 5-minutes;
• a driver (ahem, Eric) who refused to pull over, because all of the trucks he had passed would overtake us; and
• a set of grandparents hacking up some sort of TB/pneumonia/bronchitis-like plague (courtesy of my siblings in America!).

It's all about the journey...Or is it?

When we reached our destination the weather was a cool 108 degrees F.  The fans in our chalet made it feel like 106.  I would have given away my 4-year old for some air conditioning. 

(Should you find yourself in this situation, I have some advice:   wrap yourself in a soaking wet sheet and sleep next to the fan.  It works wonders.)  

During the day we stayed submerged in the pool.   That was no easy feat, because hundreds of wasps buzzed around the edges.  My mom and I declared a holy war on the little buggers, but we failed to make a dent in their population.  Thank goodness my kids aren't allergic to bees, because everyone got stung.

On day two all of my kids spiked fevers, and Oliver threw up several times.   "I surrender!" I cried and furiously waved my figurative white flag.  

Fortunately I wasn't able to go home, because I would have missed these gems:   

1) Wild animals walking though our camp.  The only boundary separating our chalet from the National Park was a river--that was nearly dried up.  In other words, wild animals wandered right by us.

It's exhilarating to find an elephant meandering next to the pool.  I've never seen swimmers evacuate the water so quickly!

A visitor to our chalet

On Isaac's 7th birthday, a giraffe paid him a visit.

Isaac and his birthday visitor

One of these bad boys came for a night visit.

2) Safari drives.  My highlight was seeing my first leopard. Our guide found her resting her weary bones in a pile of dung.  "Alice" was a mother of young cubs.  She had stowed them somewhere so she could catch a few minutes of shut-eye before her evening hunt.  A mother's work is never done.

Sweet dreams.

We found this LEOPARD meters away from this spot on the river where we drank sundowners.  Why, yes, we did exit our vehicles and admire the view, and, amazingly, we lived to tell.  

Killer view.

3) Touring Tribal Textiles.  This shop, employing 90 people with living wages, creates gorgeous batiks. 

Tribal Banner

Here's a quick tutorial on the entire process.

Step 1: Using a flour paste, make a design on the fabric.

Flour paste design

Step 2:  Allow the paste to dry.

Step 3: Match paint colors to swatches by mixing primary colors and black/white.  

Fabric paint

Step 4: Paint the textile.

An artist at work.

Step 5: After paint has dried, scrape off and discard the dried paste.

Scrape.  Scrape. Scrape.

Step 6. Cure textile in oven.

At the end of many hours of work you will have a gorgeous piece like this.

Bed spread.  I can't imagine how many hours this took.

I have to admit, I missed the animals when we got back to Lusaka, and it was sad to say goodbye to my folks.  After a hazardous adventure in the scorching dry heat, my mom promised herself that she wouldn't complain about Seattle's rain when she returned home.

She lasted five days.

*South Luangwa National Park in eastern Zambia, the southernmost of three national parks in the valley of the Luangwa River, is a world-renowned wildlife haven. (Wikipedia)

Road Trip to Zimbabwe and Mozambique

“Adventures are all very well in their place, but there's a lot to be said for regular meals and freedom from pain.” ― Neil Gaiman, Stardust

 

OK.  So here's my Facebook post from the beginning of our roadtrip from Zambia through Zimbabwe and to Mozambique.  (It's like traveling from Seattle to Denver but on crummier roads.)

Ahh... Zimbabwe immigration. They asked for a bribe because we didn't have a certified copy of our vehicle's registration, and they didn't even notice that Alex and Isaac's passports had expired. (Thank heaven, because that was an unexpected surprise for me, too.)

The Mozambique border was a breeze both entering and exiting.  Our problem came when we tried to get back into Zimbabwe.  This time the electricity worked, and the passport machine alerted the officer about the problem. Then he noticed that we'd fudged the expiration date on the immigration forms.

That was an awkward moment.  The officer glared at us and said that he couldn't let us in.  We begged, pleaded, and apologized.  We asked to speak with the supervisor.  "I am the supervisor," he said.  He said the cost for a temporary permit was $2000.  We explained that we didn't have the money.  He replied, "That's not my problem."

Finally he said, "Go to your car and wait until my supervisor comes in."

How Oliver felt when we couldn't get back into Zim.

Oliver and Isaac pulled out a soccer ball and kicked it around the parking lot.  As I considered our dwindling food supplies (a box of crackers and one bottle of water), irrational ideas swirled through my head.  The border would close in a few hours, and we'd have to sleep in our car.  I eyed a family of blondes and figured that Isaac and Alex could hop in their car, get over the border, then ask the nice family to wait for us until we arrived.    

Fortunately I didn't attempt any of my hair-brained ideas.  We waited for three hours in that dusty parking lot between Mozambique and Zimbabwe.  At one point Eric turned to me and said, "We. Are. Idiots." 

But God had mercy on our wretched souls--as did the Zimbabwe immigration.  They let us in with no penalty and asked us to resolve our passports within three days.

Zimbabwe is a fantastic country.  Highlights included.. feeding day-old lambs and...

Oliver feeding a day-old lamb

...hiking in the Chimanimani mountains with the Outward Bound School.  The kids scaled the side of a cliff that dropped straight down into an ice cold pool.  The guide told us that this is the point where many adults start crying.

Alexandra

The tooth fairy made a special trip to Zimbabwe

We met many wonderful people from Zimbabwe.  One of my favorite people owned our chalet.  Most of her family and friends fled the country a few years ago.  She considered moving, but couldn't.  She loved Zimbabwe way too much to say goodbye.  "All the normal people left, and only the 'nutters' remained."  She loves to camp in the middle of game parks.  "But if we have relatives from Europe come and visit us, we don't let them collect the water from the river.  They don't know how to spot the crocodiles (called 'Flat Dogs' in Zimbabwe)."    Nutty, indeed.

Over and over people told us to spread the word:  Zimbabwe is a wonderful place.  Please come and visit.  We found that to be true.

Even the Zimbabwe police greeted us with frequent stops to make sure we had the proper documents, licenses, and equipment.  

I will say though that Zimbabwe dollars have seen better days.  Yes, they use American dollars.  Correct change is a challenge, and at one store I was given Botswana Pula instead of quarters.  Most places just ask you to buy something so it rounds up to the next dollar.

Guess which one is from Zimbabwe?

Mozambique was our final destination.  Here are a few observations about this country:

1)  People in Mozambique like to strap goats to trucks.

See?

Don't worry.  He's attached with a rope.

Another photo in case you doubted me

2) Headless coconut trees are sad.  Apparently rhinos do this to the trees.  Rhinoceros Beetles, that is. Those little devils not only destroy my picturesque vacation landscape, they shatter a Mozambican's nest egg.

Decapitated Coconut Tree

3) August is burn season.  Farmers do controlled burns to clear out brush and weeds.  Tons of smoke.

Controlled burns on the side of the road.

Cool Fish #1

Cool Fish #2

We spent our days collecting hundreds of shells on the beaches.  Eric rolled his eyes when we packed them into the truck to take back to Zambia.  Ha!  The joke was on him.  Our good little capitalist kids came back to Lusaka and sold each and every one of those shells to friends and made about $50.

Such cute kids.  I'm so glad we didn't have to leave them in Zimbabwe.

Doughnuts!

"Between the optimist and the pessimist, the difference is droll. The optimist sees the doughnut; the pessimist the hole!" --Oscar Wilde

Jane, Yvonne and Alice.

"You are 'De-DE-De'," Yvonne told me.

I could only guess what this meant in Nyanja:  Gorgeous?  Brilliant?  Spectacular?

"It means you are delicious," Jane chimed in.  

"And you are delicious because you are fat." Yvonne grinned like I was a piece of sizzling bacon.

Alice (pronounced Ah-Riss) elbowed Yvonne and said, "It's so rude to tell someone that they are fat."  

So true.  Especially when that "someone" is teaching you how to bake yummy things.

Yvonne explained that both Jane and Alice were also De-DE-De, so I finished the lesson. Then I went home and ate a pan of brownies, washed it down with gallon of ice cream and cried myself to sleep.

Three times a week I work with these young women at Chikumbuso in a local compound (slum).  They've mastered muffins, scones, cookies, and cakes,  and their neighborhood gobbles up anything they make.  

What my kids do while I'm teaching.

This past Monday, however, I was a bit overwhelmed.  The girls had an opportunity to sell something at the Dutch Market on Saturday, and I hadn't the faintest idea what they could make that would be cheap, easy, and popular.

Suddenly I had visions of hot mini-doughnuts dancing in my head.  The only problem was I'd never made a doughnut in my life,  so I got online and learned.  Then I taught the girls how to do them.  I wished them luck and told them to make a bunch and freeze them for Saturday's market.

They made 600, which is a lot of work when you are making a yeast dough and cutting each doughnut out by hand.

Come and get 'em!

On Saturday we hung up our sign, fried doughnuts, coated them with sugar, and started selling.  I even roped Isaac and Alex in to passing out coupons around the market and paid them for every customer they brought in.

At 1 pm we were sold out.  The girls were ecstatic, and so was I.

Jane offering samples

Alice getting things ready.

Because Lord knows, my "delicious" self doesn't need any leftover doughnuts hanging around my house.

Oh Me of Little Faith...

There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved. It is God's finger on man's shoulder. --Charles Morgan

I met "Andrew" at an orphanage few months ago.  He crawled over to me and greeted me with a huge grin.  Then he climbed into my lap.

As I held him I thought, "Poor little guy. No one will ever adopt him."

You see, despite being affectionate, curious, and cute-as-a-button, he had three strikes against him.

1) He was not a baby.
2) He couldn't walk.
3) He had water on his brain. (Hydrocephalus)

This is the SECOND time in Zambia that I've declared a child un-adoptable.  (The first time was here in this post.)  And this is the SECOND time that I was wrong.

Enter Ben and Laura.  This couple started on the adoption journey when they arrived in Lusaka, but just as soon as a door would open, it would slam shut again.  The orphanages are bursting at the seams with babies, but very few are available for adoption.

While they waited for a child, Ben and Laura jumped into African life.  They worked.  They volunteered.  And they hung out with a bunch of oddballs parenting kids with special needs.

See?  Case in point!

Another one...

And another

Oliver is not amused by these shenanigans

I'm convinced that our insanity rubbed off on them.  They caught our "bug".  But Ben and Laura claim that God had something to do with their decision.

"Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves; ensure justice for those being crushed.  Yes, speak up for the poor and helpless, and see that they get justice." Proverbs 31:8-9

Ben and Laura brought Andrew home over a week ago.  Now they are living the vida loca together, a whirlwind of giggles and tears mixed with lots of love.  Sounds like a perfect family to me.

Please forgive me Andrew for declaring your situation to be hopeless.

I really gotta quit doing that.

Chipolopolo Mojo

In February Zambia won the Africa Cup of Nations.  The country exploded in celebration when the Copper Bullets scored the final goal, because nobody thought they had a fighting chance.

It was a poignant victory, because it took place a short distance from the site of the1993 plane crash that killed 18 Zambian soccer players en route to the World Cup Qualifier against Senegal.  

Chipolopolo Team!

Chipolopolo Head Coach Herve Renard remained poised in his designer shirt throughout the entire game and has since become quite the superstar in Lusaka.  He advertises laundry detergent and cell phones on at least a dozen billboards in the city.  It's a good thing he's photogenic, because these are the gigs that are paying his bills.  The government has neglected to compensate him for the past six months, and Mr. Renard threatened to resign at the end of June if this nonsense continues.

Mr. Renard recently paid a visit to the French School, because he is a good French man.  My kids were ecstatic to meet a celebrity and beamed when they showed me his autograph.

We are never washing our hands, mom!

A Lamb is Slain

***Warning:  Graphic***

"Understand, when you eat meat, that something did die.  You have an obligation to value it--not just the sirloin but also all those wonderful tough little bits."--Anthony Bourdain

I believe that if you eat meat, you should be able to kill the animal yourself.  So far, with the exception of fish, I've remained a complete hypocrite.

A month ago I took a step toward my conviction, and watched my Mauritanian friend kill and dress a sheep.

It was a somber experience for both Eric and me.

But before we get to the gruesome murder scenes...I have to mention that this sheep didn't look like a sheep to me.  How can it be called a sheep if l can't knit a sweater from its wool?

So I embarked on a journey to educate myself.  And to my sheer (sorrry!) amazement I learned that there are wool sheep and hair sheep.  The latter being quite common here in Southern Africa.

The before photo.

The first cut

Blood draining into the hole

Waiting for all of the blood to drain

After butchering the animal, my friend tossed the liver and testicles on the hot grill for us to sample.

Somehow I'd lost my appetite, so I declined.

I did sample the BBQ'd lamb shish kabobs the following day.  And I had a new respect for each and every bite.