21.02.07 The F- Word

.... and so, life begins. Thank you so much to everyone who sent me birthday wishes. I feel quite emotional at the moment as its taken me absolutely ages to get through all the emails, and I'm touched that so many people remembered. Having said that, who was cruel enough to put something into Today in my absence? C'mon, the guilty party needs to own up in public.

It was of course a memorable day, and I knew there were sneaky plans afoot amongst my friends here, but it was not a good start. Let me tell you a story....

The day started as normal except that I got 2 grunts from my 2 roomies when I got up, instead of the usual one. The combi arrived to take me to school and I got there just before 7am. In true Zambia style, the kids that are not installed in their classrooms at 7am are hit with a piece of rubber hose pipe. As we drove into the school grounds - a sandy area with a circle of grass in the middle around which assemblies are held - I saw Tuesday morning's beater attack a group of girls on their way in. I went into my classroom which is the nearest one to where we are dropped off and suddenly one of the boys yelled "Teacher Teacher. Chuma!" Chuma is the name of the girl I have (I think) mentioned before that Miss M doesn't beat because she faints.

I ran outside back into the yard. Chuma was lying on the ground. I couldn't see what state she was in as there were loads of kids around and a few teachers doing sod all but standing there waving their hose pipes. This is, I suppose, where being a mzungu can carry you through. I yelled at the kids and teachers to get out of the way and got to her. It was starting to pour so I told them to get umbrellas. Chuma had not fainted. She had gone into what I can only describe as a sort of catatonic state of shock. Her eyes were open, she was totally non responsive, her pulse was racing and she was about to swallow her tongue. I'm not so good with all this stuff, but something kicks in - maybe all the practice for the first aid badge at brownies, maybe the experience Nicki and I had when we saved the girl on the Meadows - but I got her into the recovery position and secured her breathing. At some point, and I don't really remember when, I yelled to the Nazi beater that this is what happens when you beat children. One of the other teachers suggested we leave her to recover and go and pray. Apparently this had happened before and it could take an hour for her to recover. My response, calmer this time, was that she needed more practical assistance. I phoned for the combi to come back and take her to hospital, which, to cut a long story short, was where I spent the rest of the morning. She started coming round after about 30 minutes and could talk a bit after a further hour. After a further hour she was much better and in the absence of any obvious illness she was discharged with malaria pills (she'd been having chills recently), paracetamol - which is the cure for all ills here, and an instruction to drink sweet drinks for the rest of the day.

Interestingly both the headmaster and deputy head turned up at the hospital to see her. She hadn't a clue who they were, which was mildly amusing in the circumstances. They told me that when I take her home I should stop by the school to get a teacher to come to speak to her parents to translate. I was to tell the parents that she had collapsed after being threatened with being beaten. "She was beaten" I said. "I saw it." "But tell her parents she was only threatened." I shrugged. I made the headmaster come in to see the doctor so that the doctor could tell him what first aid to do if and when this happens again. I also told him that he needs to compile a list of particularly vulnerable children and make sure that all teachers know they should not be hit. I stopped short of the full debate. In some respects I wonder if that was wrong, but I was quite stressed and emotional and may not have been as calm about it as I would need to be. It was not the right place or time. Or maybe it was. Anyway, I persuaded them to leave the hospital as it was more important that they go back to do their work at school.

The combi came to get me at the hospital with one of our Zambian drivers, David. Again, I think I've mentioned him before. He's high up in the hierarchy of the tribe in the area, and one day will be chief. He knows everyone and everything. He knows the language that Chuma speaks - Lozi - and so when I took her home he translated for me and her parents. Apparently this problem started 2 years ago and occurs, as I guessed, when she is put under stress. They have tried all known traditional medicine remedies (oh, I dread to think) and not had success with other doctors. I honestly don't think they have actually tried anything as she was not previously registered at the hospital, which is where the only doctors here are. So I left her with 2 cans of Fanta, 2 muffins from Wonderbake, and all the neighbours kids coming round to see the mzungu teacher.

David took me back to school. I didn't think there was anything else I could do, and I feel a bit helpless now. The head and deputy pounced on me when I got back and asked me what I told the parents. In true Zambia style I shrugged again and said we just discussed Chuma's health. When I walked back to my class room several of the teachers came up to me and said "it wasn't me who hit her, I would never do that." I didn't say much but when I got into the classroom I sat Miss M down and told her in no uncertain terms was she ever to leave the girl in that state and not take her to a clinic (there is one about 200m away) or the hospital. I don't really know if this is right, but it looks quite dangerous to me, so I egged it up a bit to scare her.

I know I'm being hard on the teachers. They are not all uncaring monsters. They are relatively uneducated and a product of their own system and environment but to leave a child like that and go and pray (I'm shouting here). What a load of b******s. How I managed to stay calm I don't know - you do what you have to do I guess.

By that time it was 11am. I pretty much shooed Miss M out of her English class into a corner to do marking, and started an Art class. They love Art so much, they get so excited when they see me come in with my bag of crayons and paper. At this point, I confessed it was my birthday, so they sang happy birthday, and then I had to confess the number. Ah, it was brutal! To these kids, 40 is ancient, but I was told yesterday, by a prostitute in a bar (I'm getting there) that it is a matter of real celebration to get to 40 as so many people here die in their 20s. I know that, and truly, that's how I feel.

Anyway, yesterday's art class produced about 50 birthday cards from my little darlings - it was what they wanted to do. I treasure them. After school they were being punished for speaking "vanacula" (vernacular - usually their own language) by being made to cut the grass on the football field (very handy as there are no lawn mowers) so we walked out into the field and they started to sing for me. They sang local songs and some English hymns. Some of the kids objected as the others were singing in a language they didn't understand. What you need to understand is that these kids are not stupid. They are not backward at all. What it is, is that they are being educated in sometimes their 3rd or 4th language. Imagine, those of you who learn a few phrases of Spanish or Italian before the annual jaunt, if that was the language you had to do business in. It is like that. I have learned bits of the 4 local languages here - Nyanga, Bemba, Lozi and Tonga, but I get them mixed up quite a lot which causes much amusement.

It was a mixed morning. Awful and lovely. I needed to walk, so despite the scorching heat again, and a heavy bag of art stuff, I decided to walk home. It is about 3 miles but I felt that I needed the time. As I was walking for about 15 minutes I heard 2 guys say the m- word as they came up behind me so I just turned around and said "yes I am a mzungu!" We got talking and they showed me a short cut home which cut it down to 2 miles, which was a bonus. They offered to carry my bag as well, but hey - principles are princples!

I got back to the house at about 1ish, tired, grubby and sweaty. And very hungry. I was told that I wasn't doing afternoon projects, that I should go and have a shower and scrub up a bit, and be ready to leave at 2.30. I did as I was told (it sometimes happens) and Angus, one of our favourite local taxi drivers, turned up at 2.45 (its Africa). Joyce, Anne and Debs took me for high tea at the Royal Livingstone hotel. This involves nibbling crust free smoked salmon and cucumber sandwiches, drinking filter coffee in my case, ceylon tea for the others, and then diving into the enormous, and I mean really enormous, trolley of sweets and pastries. There must have been about 30 things to choose from. Unfortunately after 2 months of rice and veg, my eyes are way bigger than my stomach, and I only managed 3 plate loads. A monkey came and grabbed Joyce's quiche, and some sugar. Oh, and did I mention the cocktails? I had a Pimms to start with, and then I got champagne cocktails for us all.

Just to make an interesting backdrop there was a huge storm over the river in front of us with really dramatic forks of lighting.

After that we got a taxi back to Rhapsody's, the place where we come for happy hour cocktails on Wednesdays and Fridays. The manageress, Sonya, brought me a monster cocktail called Rhapsody Blue. I don't know if it was deliberate, but we'd been having a discussion a few weeks ago, and I'd said I thought it was unnatural to eat and drink blue things (no, bluberries are purple). Anyway, I made everyone else taste this as well, as it was huge. It starts to get a wee bit blurry after we played a game of "Shots and Ladders" which involved blue sambuca. More blue - its not right! Anyway, I'm sure they fixed it as I seemed to land on every square which involved drinking, and whenever they could nominate a friend for a shot, it was me. That was all I drank (a lot!) until much later, about 11pm I think, when another blue monstrosity of a cocktail turned up. I will be sweating blue soon. I used my usual tactic of sharing it around, which seemed to work fine.

We then went into town to a bar where there are mostly locals, loads of prostitutes, and a few non local whites. We stayed there for a couple of hours, danced a bit, drank a bit more - water in my case - and I ended up talking for ages in French with a prostitute called Gladys. It was her friend Christine who said I should celebrate being 40. It was a sad sight to see these beautiful young girls (the Zambians are an unfairly good looking people) put themselves through this. Well, I didn't see it, I only glimpsed a snapshot on the surface. It was enough for me.

We got home at 3am. I did not make it into school today! I emerged at about 8am, sat on the verandah in my PJs for a while, someone put a coffee into my hand (would you believe I probably only have 2 or 3 a week now!) and I let the world come slowly back into focus. And here I am.

So, yes, I can say it. "Forty, Forty, Forty!" Its a bloody big number, but it is just a number, and in the context of life here, not something to complain about at all. And hey, I'm 40, this year I've made a dream come true, and even in the 2 months that I've been away, I've seen, done, thought and experienced things that I'll never forget or regret. And I'm never going to forget this birthday!

I've missed you all especially this week, and it really has been truly lovely to get all your messages. Thank you again. I will respond individually, but maybe not until the weekend. And I'll put a couple of pictures from yesterday on here as well.

Keep in touch.