Sweat

We've had the sub-tropical version of a winter thaw in the past week ... the skies have been relatively free of clouds and we haven't had more than a few drops of rain. You can tell farmers are getting edgy; it might be the worst time for a dry spell, as the maize has tasseled and is starting to fill the grains; similarly, the groundnuts are flowering or are starting to develop pods. Without delving too much into soil or atmospheric science, suffice it to say that this is one of the times plants are really thirsty. In our sandy soil, this means they dry up the available water quite quickly.

It's been a busy time for us; we're on a tight deadline to finish the food production site for the cooperative I work with, and we mostly get around by foot. I sweat in gallons, which makes me slightly embarrassed; Zambians seem to sweat only from their foreheads. Mr. Mu., our go-to guy, might be the hardest-working man in Western Province; today, he was wearing a long-sleeve shirt under a sleeveless sweater, and chatted endlessly in my ear as we walked up to a local abattoir to check on a water connection. He seems to bounce along without regard to the heat, making continuous half-circles to one side of me; I trudge along, mopping my forehead, nod periodically, and wonder when the good Lord might see fit to turn down the thermostat.

I should note that Barotses, out of years of practice no doubt, seem to bounce across the sand without sinking in, a trick I have yet to master. I wonder if as barefoot youths, they learned this technique to avoid 3rd degree burns on the soles of their feet. Needless to say, I don't bounce; I just slip and grind.

After our peregrinations I get back to the office totally discombobulated. Our office isn't much better; it is essentially a concrete box roofed with (corrugated) iron sheets, and on a sunny day, you could bake bread in there. If I have the office to myself, I peel off my shirt(s) and turn on the fan to dry/cool off, but it's mostly pointless.

One other contribution to the general feeling of torridity is the food. NSHIMA! BUHOBE! Ground maize [corn] cooked into a thick porridge and served a few degrees below a fission reaction. Filling your belly with corn cement at high temps really puts the day into low gear; Zambians refer to the post-lunch period as "the nshima coma"; funny it doesn't seem much slower than usual.

To give you some idea of the heat, it's almost 21:00 (9 p.m.) and I'm still sweating. Likely more a function of the "modern" house I live in; the place is engineered to capture as much heat as possible. Village houses (with thatched roofs) are far superior in these circumstances; they shed heat very well, quickly achieving equilibrium with the far cooler night air. No shower and no Internet, though. Couldn't write these loopy posts otherwise.