An African Dream

The BBC is running a series called 'African Dream' which features an African entrepreneur.

This week it featured Sylvia Banda, a Zambian lady who has built up a multi-dollar business over the past 27 years, but it started with her taking ten days of annual leave and attracting her first customers simply by the smell of the food she was cooking wafting out of the window. Now she is exporting her own pre-packed food.

I am always inspired by 'rags to riches' stories - even more so when it is in a developing country and there is no safety net for the entrepreneur. I wish I had the courage (and the skill and inspiration!) to follow suit. So hats off to Sylvia, and I wish her every ongoing success.

You can watch the programme online here: www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-21605796
(It is only 4.20 minutes long, including the titles and credits!)

A rubbish post

I was challenged by Karen at The Rubbish Diet to write about rubbish in Zambia. By which she meant trash and garbage, rather than things that went wrong (of which there were many…) She is running an 8 week long campaign to reduce the amount we put in our bins. I am in awe of her achievements and do wonder how I'm going to reduce my own garbage. Anyway, after a week of Zambian blogging, I thought I would hijack Writing Wednesday with some of my experiences.

I lived in the capital, Lusaka, for 4 years. You might think that in a developing country the concept of recycling would be lost completely, and that there would be waste and litter everywhere. In practice, I think that is completely wrong. I do not recall any great quantity of litter around the streets, unless you went into the more densely populated areas and their markets. My suspicion, however, is that even there it didn’t last longer than the day. Where there is poverty, there is desperation, and anything that could be gleaned for sale, for food or for self-preservation would be.

As for recycling, in some ways they had a better system than we do here. In Africa, nothing goes to waste. I am convinced that before any of our black bags went out for the binmen (and yes – there was a regular collection!) the entire contents were ransacked for anything that might be of value or use to the maids or garden boys.  Once it reached the dump, I am sure there were even poorer people clambering all over to retrieve the remnants. This brings images of Slumdog millionaire to mind, and is not really something to be proud of. Nevertheless, it minimises waste.

As with anything, if there is limited supply then little is wasted. Zambia is a landlocked country, so everything had to be either flown in or brought on lorries through Zimbabwe (usually). Heavy items, such as paper, were disproportionately expensive. Whilst there was no formal recycling of paper, it was used with minimal waste. We recycled the free ‘Game’ magazine as wrapping paper… though I think this made us cheapskates, not eco warriors!

The best recycling of all – and far better, I believe, than anything we do in the UK – was the recycling of soft drinks. It was possible to buy them in cans, but you paid handsomely for that privilege. And then you had to throw the can away: here there was no recycling of tin. But most long-term residents didn’t do this. Instead they bought a glass bottle of coke (or fanta or sprite: those were our only choices, although diet coke arrived before we left), paying a deposit for the bottle and, when drunk, took it back for replacement. The deposit rolled over ad infinitum; the glass bottles were reused; the soft drinks were cheap. Usually we did this by the crate load but many locals did it by individual bottle. To my mind this is far better recycling than our copious use of plastic (yeuch!) and cans.

In some ways, the simple life gives natural waste reduction. If you can’t afford disposable nappies, you can never contaminate a landfill site with them as waste. If you can’t afford new clothes, you will always be in the market for hand-me-downs and second-hand offerings.

I was privileged to be connected to the Chikumbuso Womens & Orphans Project. As with all great ideas, it started with a simple thought: what if...? What if we were able to reuse all the carrier bags we have (freely handed out by local supermarkets and shops, but of low quality and non-biodegradable) that go to waste? What if it was possible to crochet plastic bags into …well, bags! 

Started by a small group of widows in the Ngombe region of Lusaka, a whole trade and industry has developed. Carrier bags are cut up and then crocheted to make bags which are then sold in the local market. The resource is, for the most part, free (donated in strategically placed bins, such as at international schools!). The women earn a living from their production; a percentage is kept for community projects. And – importantly – the plastic bags are recycled, reused and not creating uncompostable waste.

In Zambia, recycling can come in many forms. Glasses from wine bottles:

Chairs from bottle tops:

(Do you see the snake of bottle-tops on the table?)

The cans and papers are also used to create household items to sell, such as lampstands:

The best of ingenuity has to go to these gentlemen: a new style of horse and cart!

In Africa, nothing goes to waste.

If anyone in the UK is interested, I have a few bags available for sale for the Chikumbuso Women and Orphans Project: please DM me on twitter: @c_withenay

Malaria marvels

I never wanted to move to Africa. As I sat in my terraced house in London, all I could think about, cradling my 7 month old baby or chasing after my two-year-old toddler, was the risk of malaria. Malaria kills. One bite from the wrong mosquito and it could be all over. The prospect of that happening to one of my children, and not noticing it in time, was terrifying.

In practice, Lusaka was largely malaria free, with the greatest risk during the rainy season (November to March) and our awareness of the symptoms meant at the first sign of fever there was a rush to be tested. We had a few dashes to the clinic for what turned out to be nothing more than a cold. By the time a test came through positive I had been there four years, my son was now six and it all was a lot more manageable. (Don't misunderstand me: I was terrified for my boy, had sleepless nights and cried a lot, but it didn't make me rush for the first plane home.)

Malaria is a killer disease and millions die of it every year. It has been said that the mosquito is man's greatest enemy because of this threat (and that of other diseases). Across the world efforts are being made to eradicate the disease. There has been talk of breeding sterile mosquitoes and work persists in trying to find a vaccine. The Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation has been supplying millions of mosquito nets impregnated with insecticide. These are a first line of defence: if no-one is bitten by mosquitoes then the malaria cannot be sucked in by the insect and pushed out into the fresh blood of the next victim. Admittedly, there are many tales of the nets being used by locals as fishing nets rather than over their beds, but a saturated market must provide some level of resistance.

The fight goes on because we know the disease to be both treatable and preventable. No-one need die of it and simple measures can prevent its spread. A few months ago I shared this video with you - a marvellous piece of public education for the people of the Congo.

But the best news of all came this week: in the last decade worldwide incidences of malaria have decreased by 20%. A reduction of one fifth. Many, many millions of lives saved, quite probably most of them being children. Malaria is the largest cause of death in the under 5s, killing one child every 30 seconds. It is still prevalant in sub-saharan Africa (85% of cases) yet progress is being made. Although endemic in 108 countries, since 2007 it has been eradicated from Morocco, Turkmenistan and Armenia.

I hope that one day a vaccine will be found and this killer disease can be eradicated. In the meantime, let's celebrate the steps forward that we are making. Every life is valuable and every life saved is invaluable.

Frederic Chiluba

(c) The Post Newspaper, Zambia

Yesterday, Frederic Chiluba, second president of Zambia, was laid to rest. He died just over a week ago at his house in Kabulonga, Lusaka (not far from where we used to live). It is not confirmed but suspected that it was from a heart attack.

Chiluba came to power in 1991 after Kenneth Kaunda was persuaded (in the face of protests) to allow multi-party democracy. KK had been President since independence in 1964 and there were great hopes and expectations from President Chiluba. By all accounts he quickly brought some stability to the country and government which may have saved Zambia from implosion. He also encouraged foreign investment in Zambia.

But they say power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Chiluba sought to change the constitution to allow a third term in power, but this was defeated. Nevertheless, his protogee, Levy Mwanawasa, was elected in 2001 who, presumably to Chiluba's surprise, tried to eliminate (well, at least reduce) the corruption in the country. A large part of that was prosecuting Chiluba. They lost after 6 years of court cases in Zambia, but won a case in London (although the multi-million dollar fine was never enforced in Zambia).

It is hard to know what to say about Chiluba. Corruption is endemic in Africa, and Zambia is no exception. When we were living there the latest list of 'most corrupt nations' came out and we celebrated the increase from 9th to 11th most corrupt within the year. Not the most glorious of matters to celebrate! Yet stories abounded about Chiluba. Allegedly, when he was voted out, there was an entire container of Italian designer suits found which, he stated, had been bought entirely from his salary as President. Can that be true?

Whatever his record, he is only the second Zambian president to die (Levy Mwanawasa having died during his second term in office in 2008) and had a funeral like most of us expect: with family there, mourning the loss of a loved one. For Zambia, it is another milestone in its short history.

His detailed obituary is on the BBC here, and details about his funeral from a Zambian newspaper here. 

Malaria video

I came across this in one of my random wanderings around the internet and Africa and good causes. These people are nominated for awards for their films and this is a particularly good example: a community advert for the prevention of malaria in the Congo.
My only question is: Why is it (predominantly) in English, not French?

Wonder where I'd wandered?

The Withenays have had a well-earned rest, after all the house-moving malarky that seems to overwhelm our lives. We've had a fortnight filled with views like this:

... and this:

 
Have you guessed where yet?
 

 

This may give it away a little...

 

Yes, after what seems like an age, we had a holiday back in Zambia, visiting friends and family. We had a fantastic time - thanks to all of you who entertained us and (almost more importantly) our kids. It was wonderful to see the changes that have happened (just what is going on at Manda Hill?!) and to be reassured by things that never change ("Ah, sorry, we have no more of those either madam...")

Talking of change: did you pick up on the Zambian news whilst I was away? (I gather we have an election or something coming up here in the UK...?!) Well, I guess not. President Banda chose to retire the heads and deputy-heads of the Air Force, Army and National Service and replace them with others: all six men changed in one fell swoop. He said it was to allow the younger men to rise up through the ranks. This argument is fine (I believe all six were above retirement age) but would have more credibility if he hadn't brought one of the replacements out of retirement. 

Some things, as they say, never change.

African accounts

Thoughts on a place I used to work

I am sitting at my desk, tapping figures into a spreadsheet. I am the privileged one: I have the biggest desk and the only laptop. On the other side of the room Maggie and Winnie write up their accounts longhand, in pencil in the massive ledgers. These ladies are my rock and support, people with all the answers I need to the history of the organisation and its finances. They carry on in the way they have done for years and in all reality they would be better with bigger desks so they could spread out. Glancing at the piles of papers that surround me, I am in no hurry to reduce my working area: I need all the space I can get.

The windows are open, light cotton curtains fluttering in the breeze. The cooling air is welcome to counter the heat from the tropical sun. Mid-morning is still warm, and by this afternoon the sun will be streaming in through the glass on my left, baking us for the last three hours of work. Out of habit, I reach for my two-litre bottle of filtered water and take a long, refreshing draft.

From outside I can hear the sound of the school children laughing and shouting to each other: it must be break-time. They run and skip over the parched earth, red dust prevailing over the scratchy grass. There is an attempt at a play area with a climbing frame, swing and roundabout made by the local metalworkers. The primary-coloured paint has faded and largely worn away; the feet have sunk into the ground during repeated rainy seasons and the resulting angles are concerning. It is not a school I would be happy to send my child to, which saddens me greatly. These beautiful children will (in my eyes) get a sub-standard level of education because they cannot afford the luxuries of the international school that my son attends. Then again: these children are getting an education, and many in Africa do not.

I sigh, and return to my work. Somehow these books have to balance. Somehow I have to persuade all the other staff that cash cannot be available just at the click of a finger. Somehow I have to bring some order into their chaos, if only to satisfy the Western donors who fund their relief and development efforts. And fund my job.

Yet I am white: the outsider, the novice in the country. How can I understand what they go through? I don't have to work 8-5, and then go home to work more hours as a seamstress or carpenter in order to make ends meet. I don't have to feed an extended family, the children of my brothers and sisters who have succumbed to The Disease. I don't understand the need for travel allowances, payments to the local chief, the perks of being invited to a conference. It is all a far cry from working for a Big Four accountancy firm in the City of London.

On the outside, I provide confidence for the funders and hope for my colleagues. Inside, I flounder and panic, wondering what I have let myself in for. After all, no sane person would choose to be an accountant in the ninth most corrupt country in the world... would she?

What's in a name?

This is a picture of Goodluck Jonathan: acting president of Nigeria (despite this happening). I don't envy his job: Nigeria is a difficult country. Colleagues in Zambia once told me that it was the place to disappear, as there were so many people and so little control over identity cards or passports or whatever. I suspect my skin colour would not permit such easy disappearance, but that comment has always tainted my view of Nigeria.

So - good luck to Goodluck!

It amuses me that he should have such an appropriate name. Here in the UK we laugh at celebrities who choose peculiar names for their children. Fifi Trixibelle? Brooklyn? Sunday (when born on a Monday)? All curious names, and likely to affect the children as they grow up.

My two have very solid, familiar names. You could even say they were dull, but we chose them because we like them. My son got the male equivalent of my late mother's name as a middle name, but otherwise there is no particular family connection. Nor were they particularly chosen for their meaning.

But in Africa, names seem much more blatant. They are a statement of the parents' standing or hopes or aspirations. When in Zambia, we had a maid called Precious, but my favourite name was Fineness. I knew a couple of these, and it always made me smile if only because it is such poor English. Yet you can see what their parents were thinking when they were born. We knew a man called Hope and others had names in the local languages that meant 'pretty' or 'man of the field' or 'artistic'.

In Ghana, children are named according to their position in the family (first child, second child, etc.) and which day of the week they are born on. So Kofi Annan is Friday Fourth-child. There was quite a large Ghanaian contingency in our church in London and so I knew a few Tuesdays and Thursdays!

But the name that has always amused me most is that of a young girl I once knew in Hong Kong. She felt she should not use her Chinese name but adopt a Western name. This practice was also common in Africa: somehow our (dull!) western names are viewed as more appropriate or more likely to get further on in life. It is an aside, but what a shame that we can't accept their names and cultures into ours so easily. Anyway - what amused me was the name she chose, as it seemed so inappropriate for a lively 18 year old.

Mabel.

Names come around and go around. What has influenced you in your choice of name?

50 not out

I can hardly believe it, but this is my fiftieth posting. As any great batsman would do, I raise my bat to the stands, lift my helmet and smile to all four corners of the ground.

In honour of this great event, here are five of the best!

1 Best for travel: given we wander so much, this was a hard category to judge. My early musings on noses were up there with the most surreal, but given our imminent move I think the moment when I was really tearing my hair out pips it to the post. Buying a house is always a Headache - never straightforward, particularly if you don't know the area. Feeling rather worn out with house moves (this is my third in less than two years) I really just want it over and done with. And to never see another packing box again in my life...

2 Best for comments: there were many contenders for this category, not least of which was for YP's witty rhyme in Whatever happened or the many responses to Lessons I should have learnt (but that just shows how foolish I can be). Overall it has to go to Questions you cannot answer ... principally because I discovered there were so many answers! Thank you, everyone, for all your comments: they are what make it all so much fun.

3 Best for Africa: throughout my blog I have tried to reflect some of my musings about Africa, and Zambia in particular (given it is the location of my book). The article about Fashion for Africa sums up many of the quandaries we find ourselves in, as we ('The West') attempt to help the poor and needy, but often find ourselves doing more harm than good.

4 Best for taking a long hard look at myself: here is a snippet of Domestic Bliss - how did I get in that state?!

5 Best for children: for the frustrations and hair-tearing moments, for the love and unbelievable joy they bring, I offer up Why do we do it? [Answers on a postcard, please...]

To all my followers: those who have endured the full fifty-course banquet and those who just pop by for a tea and biscuit occasionally, thank you! Your company is what makes it all worthwhile. I hope you catch a glimpse of the wonderful, wandering, whirlwind life I lead. So stay with me: I'm looking forward to my Century now!

Fashion for Africa

I was drawn to reading an article from the BBC about the throwaway fashion culture we have in the UK and how it ends up dumped in landfill sites in Africa. This particular article was about Uganda but, extrapolating from my experience in Zambia, I suspect it is a continent-wide phenomenon.

There was a great second-hand clothes market in Lusaka. There high street names were available as good quality clothes for as little as a pound: better value than many charity shops here. This was an excellent way to clothe young children - still at an age where they wear through clothes at a rapid rate, yet not of an age where the fashion label matters.

For the wealthy ex-pat it was one thing: for the local, another. For them it was western fashion at affordable prices. The market was always busy, buzzing, full of clothes brought from overseas.

There was no affordable market for locally made clothes. Indeed, there was virtually no clothing industry in the country. Clothes were brought in from South Africa and material from India. There were several small companies, predominantly trading for the tourist or ex-pat market, such as Tribal Textiles or Cobbled Creations (go on - have a look - there is some beautiful stuff!) I only knew of one remaining textiles factory, and that appeared lifeless every time we drove past. It was reliant on overseas funding and there was perpetually talk of it shutting down. 

Yet Zambia grows cotton. On our travels we would pass the factory, the roads white with fluffy balls of harvested cotton that had escaped from the sacks during transport. There are many people willing to work, people willing to take on some of the most menial tasks to our western eyes. Whilst there would be a great initial investment in machinery, surely there would be payback with the low wages and cheap, local supply of raw material?

I was told the clothing industry died because of the charitable West. Our clothes, worn just a few times and then discarded, are given to charities who collate them together then ship them out to countries such as Zambia. Generously we give clothes we don't want to people who need them. It makes us feel good, justifies our extravagance and our desire for fashion. And surely this is great, as the starving poor cannot afford clothes and anything we give is better than nothing?

Maybe. But the harsh truth is that Zambians who had a thriving textile industry suddenly found that the local market weren't buying the locally made clothes: they could get them for free from international charities. The textile industry went into terminal decline, thousands of people losing their jobs and their family's welfare. As a result, more people wanted - needed - to get their clothes for free. And the charities happily ship in more of our unwanted goods. 

So is it worth it? Locals lose their livelihoods. The Developing World becomes more dependent upon the West for handouts. Nations stop being self-reliant. And, from the article I read, we are simply dumping our toxic waste in Africa rather than our own backyard. 

I believe we should think twice before buying clothes (do we really need them?) and aim to make-do, recycle and update our existing wardrobe before giving it away. Perhaps we would be better giving our clothing budget directly to charities working with people in the developing world, encouraging entrepreneurial businesses and micro-loans? Whatever we choose (and I do believe we should be wearing clothes!) we should remember that a little goes a long way.

PS: It appears that the Cobbled Creations site isn't working at present, but you can see a photo of some bedding in Kanyemba Lodge here and it was used in a televised Grand Designs house in France and even on our bed. (Not the same bedding you understand: we bought our own!)

photo copyright Gareth Bentley

Trees of the world

You just have to look at this!

What a magnificent list of trees.  I was waiting and waiting for the Baobab - the ubiquitous tree of Africa, branches like roots in the air. Then finally - voila! I love its use as a toilet (honestly - click on the link and see!)

Now, with more tree-hunting research, I discover that the wonderful Thomas Pakenham clearly has a love of them, writing a whole bunch of books and being labelled as an arborist (a new word for me to use!)  TP is, in my mind, most famous for writing the epic The Scramble for Africa which everyone ought to read (I'm half-way through: have been for 3 years now). It is billed as the defin

itive history of Africa and I certainly have learnt far more in half a book than I was ever told at school. Evidently his research led him to meet many trees - I guess some will have been around at the same time as we colonials exploited all African riches. (Rashly I put that in the past tense.)

My photo is of a friend enjoying a tree...

No more cholera in Zimbabwe

How can this be? I'm spitting mad at the blindness of the statement!

The UN declares that there are more deaths today because of cholera in Zimbabwe, over 16,000 people infected with it and (so I understand from an email from a Zimbabwean friend) there are now no functioning hospitals in Zimbabwe - no drugs and insufficient pay for medical staff meant they were unsustainable.

Yet Mr Mugabe declares that "cholera has been arrested"! 

How I fear for the people of this beautiful country, where so much has been ruined by political greed. Let's pray for peace there this Christmas: the peace and prosperity that we wish each other as the New Year approaches. Let's hope that a non-violent solution can be found so that the suffering of so many innocent people ends.

A starter for 10

A final act of sadness as I fall into the trap of blogging.  A way to expose myself, my family and friends to the rest of the world.  A way to entertain others with my tales of travel and - almost inevitably related - woe.

I've finally ended up in Newcastle.  I say finally, but of course nothing is final when married to an ambitious employee of the NHS, who wants to return to Africa.  He is the love of my life, and I do appreciate that children of the world need to be healed, but sometimes it would be nice to see him at home with his own (completely healthy) offspring.

Consequently 'wanders' are many.  Job postings are short-term.  Family are scattered, friends even more so.  So the blog covers wanders and wonderings.  Just how exciting can we get?