Hello from the mother land. I am now officially a Peace Corps Volunteer, no longer just a lowly trainee. I have been at site since 21 August. It’s a gorgeous little place set back in the hills of Central Zambia, but before I tell you about the site, let me tell you how I got there. Grab a cushion and some coffee, it’s a long one:
We trained in Chongwe for 2 months, learning about fish farming and the language. For me, that language was Bemba. They speak Lala mostly where I’m living, but they’re very close. We had a test in both and everyone passed so we got to swear in as volunteers. I might have told you about my host family in the previous emails, but I’m not sure. Anyway, there was mom and dad (who was rarely there) and 6 kids (I think, maybe 7 including the nephew who was always there). I got along really well with one son, Isaac who just turned 19 years old and really wants to attend college in the states for Journalism or Agriculture. If you know of any organizations that help poor African students attend school in the states, or happen to have an extra hundred grand lying around, let me know because he would love to go. I haven’t really had time to look (well, that’s a lie. I have plenty of time, just not enough internet), but we wrote a couple letters, so let’s hope for the best. I ate alright there, mostly bread and peanut butter for breakfast, nshima (mashed potato consistency but made from corn meal) and something else like beans for lunch and dinner rotated between chicken, beef, pork, dried fish (my least favorite), soya pieces (my favorite- like tofu, but good!) or on a rare occasion if I was really good, I got fresh fish. Staying with this family really made me appreciate other families that have acted as hosts to me, so if you’re reading this, I’d like to give a thank you to the Mitchells, Boutwells, Christous, O’Loughlins, Lycetts, and any other families that have fed me or given me a place to stay. Oh, thank you to the Horley family too. I guess you’ve done your share over the past 23 years. It really made me appreciate how much work goes into hosting someone else. My host mom, on my last night there, said that I didn’t have to go, that they loved me and that I could stay as long as I wanted to and they wouldn’t even want the 30,000 Kwacha (about $7.50) per day payment that Peace Corps provides them to feed us. She was drunk.
I’ve had a lot of time to just sit and think about random things and I generally think of people back home. What have I missed? How are all my friends? I learned of Jaron’s death about a month after it happened when I checked my email. It really made me realize how far away I am. Jaron and I became friends late; second semester of senior year and news of his death really upset me. I’m so disconnected from news at home. Our family dog, Kia, died a few weeks after I arrived. I found out about 2 weeks later. It took about 2 weeks for me to find out that Bonds “broke” the record. What else has happened? Any more deaths? Any more births? Thanks to a facebook picture, I see that Kristin had her baby. Any marriages, divorces, break-ups, couple formations? How’s the USDA Lab? How’s Echo Hill? I even have time to think about people that I haven’t thought about for years. Like people that worked at River and Trails with me. How are the Devines? There’s only one that I talk to, but mostly that’s to say “Lisa, how’s Oscar? Is he still peeing on the floor?” (For those that don’t know, Oscar is Lisa’s 10 year old son and he is not yet potty trained. And boy is he ugly.) I want to know these things. It’s not so much that communication is slow, but that my sources back home aren’t telling me things. Becky has done an excellent job of writing me a letter once a week and I appreciate it immensely, but there’s only so much she can cover. I welcome her motivation and support. It’s rough out there in the village. I’m a constant rollercoaster of emotion but I’m always elated when I get her letter and uplifted to read her support. She always says stuff like “keep saving the world.” It’s not true. It’s such a small impact and she’s far from accurate. Maybe I’ll get some farmers a few extra hard earned kwacha or prevent a few people from further depleting the already depleted wild fish stock. I’ll warn them of AIDS but many already know maybe as much as me yet still engage in risky behavior. So no, it isn’t saving the world, but I still like to read that. Thanks Becky.
So the day before swear in, they put us up at an awesome place called Eureka Campsite. They had hostel like dorms, chalets and campsites. We stayed in the dorm. A quick walk took us to an area where the wild animals roamed. We saw a few giraffes, a ton of monkeys, water buffalo and impala. As I was taking a picture of a mom and baby giraffe, my buddy Joe said “hey look at the zebra.” I turned to find us surrounded by maybe 30 zebras. It was awesome. We were at their watering hole and they were thirsty. If anyone comes to visit me, we will stay at Eureka for at least one night because it is awesome. They have a nice little bar area where you can meet drunken white Zimbabwe men and teach them such endearing terms as “Douchebag” which they proceeded to call each other for the rest of the night. I don’t know why that word came up, but they loved it. Within the first 10 minutes of conversation, they said they were members of the Zimbabwe version of the KKK and said “I hope you’re ok with that.” I think that’s probably when I introduced them to the word “Douchebag.” I might have said “No, that’s not really cool. In fact, I think you’re all douchebags…you do know you live in Africa, right?” But for whatever reason, I talked to them the rest of the night. They were in town for some international rally car race and I noticed their Mitsubishi Evo VIII as we entered and immediately fell in love with it.
So the next day was swear-in and I looked AWESOME! It might be the most important day of my life, so far. Please see the attached picture, if I remember to attach it. The shirt was a gift from my friend Joe. He’s about twice my size and they tailored it for someone with the neck about half the size of my own, so it wasn’t going to fit him. (Speaking of Joe-Liz Lycett or Meg Chapman, do you know any of the following names: Joe Guglielmetti, Maureen Oscadal, or Zach Fonner. They all come from the Hanover NH area and none of them know your names, but I figured it was worth a mention here). The pants were given to me by someone who received them from someone who bought them at a second hand store here in Zambia. The coat was tailored for me by a Chongwe tailor from a pattern I picked out. The other Serenje district Aquaculture volunteer got a matching one. And the bandana has sentimental value. My sister wore it while volunteering in Mexico. I got so many compliments.
We had two people early terminated before swearing in. We started with 16 people that were supposed to show up in Philly, but had 13 actually come. Now we’re down to 11. Two left to be with their significant others. I can sympathize; it’s hard, but I love it here. I hope that they’re doing well at home and that they feel they made the right decision. I just found out that a third from my group has left for home. The one married man amongst us. I don’t blame him at all. He’s 29 years old and has been married for 7 years. His wife wanted to do PC but it just didn’t work out for her to go at this time and it did for him, so he came out here. That’s rough.
The day after swear-in, we went to our respective provincial capitals. Mine is Serenje in Central province. We stayed at the house for a couple days, did all of our shopping for the next 2 years and the next day headed out to site. My site is awesome. My hut is small, but large enough for me and all my stuff and a huge population of ants. And rats. And maybe snakes in my roof (I found a small piece of snakeskin). My hut is about 2.5 X 4 meters, I think the standard size for PC volunteers is 4X5, but I have an enclosed outdoor kitchen that we’re going to put a door on and I’ll move my foodstuff and bike out there to free up some space. I have a big double bed that takes up an entire room (my hut is divided into two). I’m glad that I have a double because I keep a lot of stuff on it-MP3 player, books, journal, flashlight and brick for rat hunting and because the foam has already compacted enough that there is about a 4 inch elevation difference between me and the space right beside me. It’s an 8 inch thick mattress. So I’m going to reposition myself every night to compensate. I have mango trees, papayas, a chili bush, avocado trees (that aren’t producing yet) and my very own rooster! He’s sick though, which is why I think he’s not laying any eggs yet, but that’s okay. I should have plenty of eggs soon enough. I’m new at this farming business, but I planted an egg about a week ago and it should sprout any day now. We medicated the rooster with what my host father called “African Medicine.” It’s a mix of water, crushed Chili peppers, salt, mango, papaya, some kind of root, and battery acid. It sounded delicious except for the mango part.
My host family consists of Ba Taata (dad) Ba Maayo (mom) and 9 kids ranging from about 6 to 30 and some grandkids. Whoa. That’s a lot. There’s one who has taken a particular fondness of me. His name is Junior and he now waves at me a lot. So I wave at him, then he waves at me. We’ll do this for about a half an hour. Yesterday, he said “Chapwa” which roughly means “Ok, I get it, enough, let’s finish this craziness. I have chickens to go chase.” I love watching the kids chase chickens. Or the pig. Yesterday, one of the kids chased the pig and it ran into a chicken. I love Zambia.
It’s not nearly as bad as the welcome book made it out to be. I’m about 13 km by bush path to the road, and I can hitch a ride and be in town in about an hour. Cell phone reception is about a 4 km ride from my hut. My primary mode of transportation is walking or biking. We have Trek mountain bikes that are the envy of all the villagers. Water is a short walk downhill from my hut, but is a treacherous long horrible uphill walk back. Well, it is when laden with 70 lbs of water. Sometimes, my family fetches water for me, but I don’t like that. I’m capable of doing it myself. My sister, Anna, is currently suffering from Smallpox, yet she still takes my cans to fill them when I’m not looking. Today, I made a run for it and when they’re backs were turned and successfully filled my jugs from a small hole in the ground. It’s no half hour walk like the literature suggested it might be. The literature did not imply that I’d have rats jumping through my window, eating my potatoes, and possibly peeing on my face while I’m sleeping. Two nights ago, I awoke to a liquid splashing on my face and hand. The story of a volunteer who had a cobra land on her mosquito net and spit in her eyes ran through my head in an instant. I wiped off my face on my sheet and looked for the cobra, but didn’t find anything. Maybe it was the bat, I don’t know. But I made a few rat traps. One is a noose with a razor blade attached and positioned inside a toilet paper roll with potatoes on either side. I think it has almost worked a couple times, but I haven’t worked out all the kinks. The other is a brick on top of a rock supported by a twig stuck in a potato. He’s supposed to eat the potato and get squashed. But the best is an actual rat trap. Pat 2, Rats 0.
I have a chameleon tree! Actually it’s a mango tree, but I like to put chameleons in it. I had a big one (maybe a foot tip to tip), a few small ones (6 in) and a tiny one (4 in). If I’m feeling lonely or frustrated, I go play with the Chameleons and watch as my family stares in amusement/horror. They’re all scared of them. The kids put out their hands and say “Mpeela” (give me) but when I offer it to them they run. I had a stick in one hand, a chameleon in the other and held both behind my back. I broke the stick to match the size of the chameleon and when the kid said “Mpeela” I threw the stick to him. They all ran away and that was the end of the game. We also had a mamba on the premises. He didn’t last too long though. My brother speared him and I helped finish the job by clubbing him. I hated doing it, but there’s no good place to put a deadly snake. My host family once consisted of 10 children. A snakebite brought the number down to 9. My father had 10 siblings but now has 4. All the rest have died. He’s 55. The average life expectancy in Zambia is just under 40. He’s an old man.
I have 2 coworkers, George (about 28), and Jordan, about 60 maybe. George has 2 daughters. One of them had malaria last week but is better. She’s scared of me. I’m the only white person she’s ever seen. Jordan has 9 children and a few grandchildren. I went to the wedding of one of his sons about 2 weeks ago. It was interesting; a lot of singing and random yelling, but similar to a wedding here. He commented to me “I’m the father of 9 children and I can’t even afford to feed myself.” Yeah, maybe that’s because you’re the father of 9 children. The problem is that they see their worth as a human being as how many children they can father. Jordan drinks a lot too, which frustrates me. He’ll speak slurred broken English to me, ask me if I understand. If I don’t, I say no so then he tries it in slurred Bemba. Then I answer “Oh yes, of course. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” That usually suffices.
So, this email is quite long, but if you got to the bottom of it then this message is for you: If you’d like to visit me, please do so! There are so many amazing things to see: Victoria Falls and the untouristed Kundalila Falls not too far down the road from me, Zambezi and South Luangwa National Parks for game watching, or you can just come hang out at the village with me. I have an amazing view over an amazing valley. Right now, it’s their “fall” and the colors of leaves are changing and it’s dry. It’s starting to get hot now, but it’s still really nice. The rains come in December and last until April or so and it’ll be green and lush. Every season is supposed to be spectacular in its own right and I’m sure it is. I still want to travel when I’m done with my service, so if you want to help me spend my re-adjustment allowance traveling from Capetown to Cairo to Morocco to Spain and home, by all means. At this point I’m considering applying to be the PCVL—Peace Corps Volunteer Leader, but that pulls me out of the village and into the town of Serenje. This would happen next November or the following April, I think. I am also considering being a trainer. This would be from April until August. I don’t know which I’d prefer to do, but right now I’m considering PCVL and then seeing if I can travel and then come back just to do training. I think one of the trainers did that. We’ll see, but if you want to come, that may affect your plans. But still come. I’d love to have visitors! Dr. Sherman, the soils here need studied. USDA people—we need to check these fish for diseases and maybe start studying O. macrochir instead of niloticus. Dr. C, the acousticness of these fish is amazing. Dr. Wendy, can you believe that I can’t find a good map of Zambia? I think you guys can take sabbatical and come visit. As for my friends, some of you don’t have jobs so you have nothing to do others that do have jobs now have money and vacation days to use. No excuses.
Ok, I think that’s all for now. Check out the pictures.
Take care
We trained in Chongwe for 2 months, learning about fish farming and the language. For me, that language was Bemba. They speak Lala mostly where I’m living, but they’re very close. We had a test in both and everyone passed so we got to swear in as volunteers. I might have told you about my host family in the previous emails, but I’m not sure. Anyway, there was mom and dad (who was rarely there) and 6 kids (I think, maybe 7 including the nephew who was always there). I got along really well with one son, Isaac who just turned 19 years old and really wants to attend college in the states for Journalism or Agriculture. If you know of any organizations that help poor African students attend school in the states, or happen to have an extra hundred grand lying around, let me know because he would love to go. I haven’t really had time to look (well, that’s a lie. I have plenty of time, just not enough internet), but we wrote a couple letters, so let’s hope for the best. I ate alright there, mostly bread and peanut butter for breakfast, nshima (mashed potato consistency but made from corn meal) and something else like beans for lunch and dinner rotated between chicken, beef, pork, dried fish (my least favorite), soya pieces (my favorite- like tofu, but good!) or on a rare occasion if I was really good, I got fresh fish. Staying with this family really made me appreciate other families that have acted as hosts to me, so if you’re reading this, I’d like to give a thank you to the Mitchells, Boutwells, Christous, O’Loughlins, Lycetts, and any other families that have fed me or given me a place to stay. Oh, thank you to the Horley family too. I guess you’ve done your share over the past 23 years. It really made me appreciate how much work goes into hosting someone else. My host mom, on my last night there, said that I didn’t have to go, that they loved me and that I could stay as long as I wanted to and they wouldn’t even want the 30,000 Kwacha (about $7.50) per day payment that Peace Corps provides them to feed us. She was drunk.
I’ve had a lot of time to just sit and think about random things and I generally think of people back home. What have I missed? How are all my friends? I learned of Jaron’s death about a month after it happened when I checked my email. It really made me realize how far away I am. Jaron and I became friends late; second semester of senior year and news of his death really upset me. I’m so disconnected from news at home. Our family dog, Kia, died a few weeks after I arrived. I found out about 2 weeks later. It took about 2 weeks for me to find out that Bonds “broke” the record. What else has happened? Any more deaths? Any more births? Thanks to a facebook picture, I see that Kristin had her baby. Any marriages, divorces, break-ups, couple formations? How’s the USDA Lab? How’s Echo Hill? I even have time to think about people that I haven’t thought about for years. Like people that worked at River and Trails with me. How are the Devines? There’s only one that I talk to, but mostly that’s to say “Lisa, how’s Oscar? Is he still peeing on the floor?” (For those that don’t know, Oscar is Lisa’s 10 year old son and he is not yet potty trained. And boy is he ugly.) I want to know these things. It’s not so much that communication is slow, but that my sources back home aren’t telling me things. Becky has done an excellent job of writing me a letter once a week and I appreciate it immensely, but there’s only so much she can cover. I welcome her motivation and support. It’s rough out there in the village. I’m a constant rollercoaster of emotion but I’m always elated when I get her letter and uplifted to read her support. She always says stuff like “keep saving the world.” It’s not true. It’s such a small impact and she’s far from accurate. Maybe I’ll get some farmers a few extra hard earned kwacha or prevent a few people from further depleting the already depleted wild fish stock. I’ll warn them of AIDS but many already know maybe as much as me yet still engage in risky behavior. So no, it isn’t saving the world, but I still like to read that. Thanks Becky.
So the day before swear in, they put us up at an awesome place called Eureka Campsite. They had hostel like dorms, chalets and campsites. We stayed in the dorm. A quick walk took us to an area where the wild animals roamed. We saw a few giraffes, a ton of monkeys, water buffalo and impala. As I was taking a picture of a mom and baby giraffe, my buddy Joe said “hey look at the zebra.” I turned to find us surrounded by maybe 30 zebras. It was awesome. We were at their watering hole and they were thirsty. If anyone comes to visit me, we will stay at Eureka for at least one night because it is awesome. They have a nice little bar area where you can meet drunken white Zimbabwe men and teach them such endearing terms as “Douchebag” which they proceeded to call each other for the rest of the night. I don’t know why that word came up, but they loved it. Within the first 10 minutes of conversation, they said they were members of the Zimbabwe version of the KKK and said “I hope you’re ok with that.” I think that’s probably when I introduced them to the word “Douchebag.” I might have said “No, that’s not really cool. In fact, I think you’re all douchebags…you do know you live in Africa, right?” But for whatever reason, I talked to them the rest of the night. They were in town for some international rally car race and I noticed their Mitsubishi Evo VIII as we entered and immediately fell in love with it.
So the next day was swear-in and I looked AWESOME! It might be the most important day of my life, so far. Please see the attached picture, if I remember to attach it. The shirt was a gift from my friend Joe. He’s about twice my size and they tailored it for someone with the neck about half the size of my own, so it wasn’t going to fit him. (Speaking of Joe-Liz Lycett or Meg Chapman, do you know any of the following names: Joe Guglielmetti, Maureen Oscadal, or Zach Fonner. They all come from the Hanover NH area and none of them know your names, but I figured it was worth a mention here). The pants were given to me by someone who received them from someone who bought them at a second hand store here in Zambia. The coat was tailored for me by a Chongwe tailor from a pattern I picked out. The other Serenje district Aquaculture volunteer got a matching one. And the bandana has sentimental value. My sister wore it while volunteering in Mexico. I got so many compliments.
We had two people early terminated before swearing in. We started with 16 people that were supposed to show up in Philly, but had 13 actually come. Now we’re down to 11. Two left to be with their significant others. I can sympathize; it’s hard, but I love it here. I hope that they’re doing well at home and that they feel they made the right decision. I just found out that a third from my group has left for home. The one married man amongst us. I don’t blame him at all. He’s 29 years old and has been married for 7 years. His wife wanted to do PC but it just didn’t work out for her to go at this time and it did for him, so he came out here. That’s rough.
The day after swear-in, we went to our respective provincial capitals. Mine is Serenje in Central province. We stayed at the house for a couple days, did all of our shopping for the next 2 years and the next day headed out to site. My site is awesome. My hut is small, but large enough for me and all my stuff and a huge population of ants. And rats. And maybe snakes in my roof (I found a small piece of snakeskin). My hut is about 2.5 X 4 meters, I think the standard size for PC volunteers is 4X5, but I have an enclosed outdoor kitchen that we’re going to put a door on and I’ll move my foodstuff and bike out there to free up some space. I have a big double bed that takes up an entire room (my hut is divided into two). I’m glad that I have a double because I keep a lot of stuff on it-MP3 player, books, journal, flashlight and brick for rat hunting and because the foam has already compacted enough that there is about a 4 inch elevation difference between me and the space right beside me. It’s an 8 inch thick mattress. So I’m going to reposition myself every night to compensate. I have mango trees, papayas, a chili bush, avocado trees (that aren’t producing yet) and my very own rooster! He’s sick though, which is why I think he’s not laying any eggs yet, but that’s okay. I should have plenty of eggs soon enough. I’m new at this farming business, but I planted an egg about a week ago and it should sprout any day now. We medicated the rooster with what my host father called “African Medicine.” It’s a mix of water, crushed Chili peppers, salt, mango, papaya, some kind of root, and battery acid. It sounded delicious except for the mango part.
My host family consists of Ba Taata (dad) Ba Maayo (mom) and 9 kids ranging from about 6 to 30 and some grandkids. Whoa. That’s a lot. There’s one who has taken a particular fondness of me. His name is Junior and he now waves at me a lot. So I wave at him, then he waves at me. We’ll do this for about a half an hour. Yesterday, he said “Chapwa” which roughly means “Ok, I get it, enough, let’s finish this craziness. I have chickens to go chase.” I love watching the kids chase chickens. Or the pig. Yesterday, one of the kids chased the pig and it ran into a chicken. I love Zambia.
It’s not nearly as bad as the welcome book made it out to be. I’m about 13 km by bush path to the road, and I can hitch a ride and be in town in about an hour. Cell phone reception is about a 4 km ride from my hut. My primary mode of transportation is walking or biking. We have Trek mountain bikes that are the envy of all the villagers. Water is a short walk downhill from my hut, but is a treacherous long horrible uphill walk back. Well, it is when laden with 70 lbs of water. Sometimes, my family fetches water for me, but I don’t like that. I’m capable of doing it myself. My sister, Anna, is currently suffering from Smallpox, yet she still takes my cans to fill them when I’m not looking. Today, I made a run for it and when they’re backs were turned and successfully filled my jugs from a small hole in the ground. It’s no half hour walk like the literature suggested it might be. The literature did not imply that I’d have rats jumping through my window, eating my potatoes, and possibly peeing on my face while I’m sleeping. Two nights ago, I awoke to a liquid splashing on my face and hand. The story of a volunteer who had a cobra land on her mosquito net and spit in her eyes ran through my head in an instant. I wiped off my face on my sheet and looked for the cobra, but didn’t find anything. Maybe it was the bat, I don’t know. But I made a few rat traps. One is a noose with a razor blade attached and positioned inside a toilet paper roll with potatoes on either side. I think it has almost worked a couple times, but I haven’t worked out all the kinks. The other is a brick on top of a rock supported by a twig stuck in a potato. He’s supposed to eat the potato and get squashed. But the best is an actual rat trap. Pat 2, Rats 0.
I have a chameleon tree! Actually it’s a mango tree, but I like to put chameleons in it. I had a big one (maybe a foot tip to tip), a few small ones (6 in) and a tiny one (4 in). If I’m feeling lonely or frustrated, I go play with the Chameleons and watch as my family stares in amusement/horror. They’re all scared of them. The kids put out their hands and say “Mpeela” (give me) but when I offer it to them they run. I had a stick in one hand, a chameleon in the other and held both behind my back. I broke the stick to match the size of the chameleon and when the kid said “Mpeela” I threw the stick to him. They all ran away and that was the end of the game. We also had a mamba on the premises. He didn’t last too long though. My brother speared him and I helped finish the job by clubbing him. I hated doing it, but there’s no good place to put a deadly snake. My host family once consisted of 10 children. A snakebite brought the number down to 9. My father had 10 siblings but now has 4. All the rest have died. He’s 55. The average life expectancy in Zambia is just under 40. He’s an old man.
I have 2 coworkers, George (about 28), and Jordan, about 60 maybe. George has 2 daughters. One of them had malaria last week but is better. She’s scared of me. I’m the only white person she’s ever seen. Jordan has 9 children and a few grandchildren. I went to the wedding of one of his sons about 2 weeks ago. It was interesting; a lot of singing and random yelling, but similar to a wedding here. He commented to me “I’m the father of 9 children and I can’t even afford to feed myself.” Yeah, maybe that’s because you’re the father of 9 children. The problem is that they see their worth as a human being as how many children they can father. Jordan drinks a lot too, which frustrates me. He’ll speak slurred broken English to me, ask me if I understand. If I don’t, I say no so then he tries it in slurred Bemba. Then I answer “Oh yes, of course. Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” That usually suffices.
So, this email is quite long, but if you got to the bottom of it then this message is for you: If you’d like to visit me, please do so! There are so many amazing things to see: Victoria Falls and the untouristed Kundalila Falls not too far down the road from me, Zambezi and South Luangwa National Parks for game watching, or you can just come hang out at the village with me. I have an amazing view over an amazing valley. Right now, it’s their “fall” and the colors of leaves are changing and it’s dry. It’s starting to get hot now, but it’s still really nice. The rains come in December and last until April or so and it’ll be green and lush. Every season is supposed to be spectacular in its own right and I’m sure it is. I still want to travel when I’m done with my service, so if you want to help me spend my re-adjustment allowance traveling from Capetown to Cairo to Morocco to Spain and home, by all means. At this point I’m considering applying to be the PCVL—Peace Corps Volunteer Leader, but that pulls me out of the village and into the town of Serenje. This would happen next November or the following April, I think. I am also considering being a trainer. This would be from April until August. I don’t know which I’d prefer to do, but right now I’m considering PCVL and then seeing if I can travel and then come back just to do training. I think one of the trainers did that. We’ll see, but if you want to come, that may affect your plans. But still come. I’d love to have visitors! Dr. Sherman, the soils here need studied. USDA people—we need to check these fish for diseases and maybe start studying O. macrochir instead of niloticus. Dr. C, the acousticness of these fish is amazing. Dr. Wendy, can you believe that I can’t find a good map of Zambia? I think you guys can take sabbatical and come visit. As for my friends, some of you don’t have jobs so you have nothing to do others that do have jobs now have money and vacation days to use. No excuses.
Ok, I think that’s all for now. Check out the pictures.
Take care
"the ideas expressed are not those of Peace Corps, but of a peace corps volunteer...one who, if you know me, you know lies. Or one who, if you don't know me, is the best break dancer in the world...ever."
