It is harvest time for millet or mtama as it is known in Swahili. The main market for millet in the area just happens to be in Kongwa, very close to the research station. What was once an empty piece of land is now bustling with women gracefully carrying 50 kgs sacks of millet on their head, men arguing over the price, and kids doing what kids like to do which is to laugh, get dirty, and wonder why adults have to be so serious all the time.
However, with over 680 households in the village there are still many who use very poor facilities. The villagers claim that those who did not receive assistance in 2002 were "uvivu" or lazy. They did not dig a pit as was the precondition to recieve the latrine supplies. Now, however, they state that those who did not build latrines have seen the "faida" or profits, gained by those that did and would gladly build a nice loo if given the opportunity.
While walking to see the sunset with my adviser, Menachem "Meny" Elimelech who came for a week to visit the research site, we were stopped by a local farmer. The man wanted to show us his millet. "It is the best you have ever seen" he told us. We ambled through the thorn bushes over to his mud hut where his wife stood smiling ready to show us the prized crop. The small white grains that they so deligently harvested by hand, then pounded with sticks to remove the husks, and finally sifted to clean any remaining debris were pilled high next to their house. Of course we did not have much to compare it to, but to our naive eyes it did look like mighty fine millet.
Meny has a big hit in the village in which we were working. It certainly helped my own cause to walk around with a man with grey hair (a sign of wisdom and status). 
We were received with many more "Shikamoo", the greeting given to an elder, than usual. We tromped throughout the village and past the giant baobabs to examine first the open hole wells. These are wells 15-25 feet deep which villagers dig themselves and must dig each year as they collaspe during the heavy rains. Besides the fact one is likely to fall to their death, or at least break several bones falling down one of these wells, the water in the wells is inadequate and quite turbid. 
Yet, in Kongwa District where water scarcity is significant, the priority is simply to obtain water without regard for quality or treatment. After viewing the wells a debate amoung the women and the one man at the well ensured over the amount of work women are reponsible for; obtaining water, gathering firewood, cooking, taking care of the children, etc, compared to men. The solo man tried argue that men do help as well, but when he hopped in our truck to get a ride back to the center of the village leaving the women behind to gather the water and then carry the heavy buckets several kilometers on their head back home we knew he really did not have much of a case.
We were received with many more "Shikamoo", the greeting given to an elder, than usual. We tromped throughout the village and past the giant baobabs to examine first the open hole wells. These are wells 15-25 feet deep which villagers dig themselves and must dig each year as they collaspe during the heavy rains. Besides the fact one is likely to fall to their death, or at least break several bones falling down one of these wells, the water in the wells is inadequate and quite turbid. 
Yet, in Kongwa District where water scarcity is significant, the priority is simply to obtain water without regard for quality or treatment. After viewing the wells a debate amoung the women and the one man at the well ensured over the amount of work women are reponsible for; obtaining water, gathering firewood, cooking, taking care of the children, etc, compared to men. The solo man tried argue that men do help as well, but when he hopped in our truck to get a ride back to the center of the village leaving the women behind to gather the water and then carry the heavy buckets several kilometers on their head back home we knew he really did not have much of a case.The village also has one deep well about 60 feet that pumps water to a few community taps that serve about 1/3 of the village. 
Each day there was always a lively group waiting to obtain water, water they claimed was completely "chumvi", salty. Meny and I tried the water and did find it to be a bit salty but drinkable. Perhaps we tasted the water on a good day. Yet, even taste aside, the water is so salty that it cannot be used to water plants (they dry out), to wash with (you cannot obtain suds), or cook the daily dish of beans (they simply will not boil).
Each day there was always a lively group waiting to obtain water, water they claimed was completely "chumvi", salty. Meny and I tried the water and did find it to be a bit salty but drinkable. Perhaps we tasted the water on a good day. Yet, even taste aside, the water is so salty that it cannot be used to water plants (they dry out), to wash with (you cannot obtain suds), or cook the daily dish of beans (they simply will not boil). Back in 2002 the village was the fortunate receiptent of aid for latrines from the Kongwa Trachoma Project (KTP), the research group/NGO with which I am collaborating. KTP donated the cement slab floors and the plastic vent pipes and the villagers had to do the rest; dig the pit, build the structure, and install a roof. Over 250 latrines were built and most are still in excellent condition as seen below.
However, with over 680 households in the village there are still many who use very poor facilities. The villagers claim that those who did not receive assistance in 2002 were "uvivu" or lazy. They did not dig a pit as was the precondition to recieve the latrine supplies. Now, however, they state that those who did not build latrines have seen the "faida" or profits, gained by those that did and would gladly build a nice loo if given the opportunity.
Meny's final night was marked by dinner with the nuns from the Catholic Mission next to the research station. He was a bit weary of whether or not it was allowed for men to enter the convent but I assured him both they and God approved. Besides the fact that pork was served, probaly obtained from the local butcher (shown below), and being Jewish Meny does not eat pork, it was a dinner filled with laughter and lively debate. We happily 
drank the wine made by the sisters in hopes it might infuse us with a bit of holiness and ended the meal by agreeing that nuns can have fun. As we walked home under the wide African night sky gleaming with stars there was a sense of possibility and an understanding that change begins one smile, one person, one village at a time.
drank the wine made by the sisters in hopes it might infuse us with a bit of holiness and ended the meal by agreeing that nuns can have fun. As we walked home under the wide African night sky gleaming with stars there was a sense of possibility and an understanding that change begins one smile, one person, one village at a time.Happy Cafe
Along the dusty road
I saw a sign;
Happy Cafe it proudly read.
To know happiness;
Happy Cafe it proudly read.
To know happiness;
creating something from nothing,
finding your voice,
uncovering a truth,
understanding a soul,
tasting a succulent orange,
dreaming of possibilities,
feeling the light of the world on your cheek
and knowing,
truly knowing
that there is no limit to the happiness
this world offers.
No comments:
Post a Comment