11 January 2016 - 30 Days to Go

The views expressed on this blog are those of the author along, and do not reflect the views of his employer, Concern Worldwide.

Happy New Year's! You patient and erstwhile readers ... 

My last day of work for Concern Worldwide Zambia is 29th January, and I have a plane ticket home booked on the 10th February. Goodbye, Zambia after 12 years. As such, I made a solemn oath to myself to write a blog post and journal entry every day, if for nothing else to remember sometime in the dim and likely more brutal future what I was experiencing these last few weeks. 

It is strange; in some ways, the process of disengaging oneself from a place and a context of cultures (Lozi, Tonga, Kaonde, Lala, Indian, White African, Chinese, ex-pat, et cetera) is that you run through the process of engagement, albeit in reverse. Maybe it's the odd way my mind works ... but separating yourself from what everyday amateur sociologists refer to as a "space" brings you back up the path from where that space was normal. E.g., you start to shed your expectations / assumptions of how people behave, how the world should work, how to begin and end things, how to speak with someone, and so on. In my case, I have become far less stressed and far more forgiving because there is an end (at least here) to the crazy results-based tilt-a-whirl that you climb on in the donor-funded development world. On the 29th, I will climb off, handover the reins to my replacement, and have 12 days to blink and think, and to wonder to myself, as I do over most of my memories ... Was it all real? Did I do that? How did I do that? What happened to all those people? Did I make a difference? Will they remember me? 

Unfortunately, deep pondering is something I can little afford whilst trying to sell my worldly possessions (mainly a car, a bicycle, and a bookshelf), handing over 12 years of agroecological experience, and looking for a new job in my soon-to-be new home, Washington, D.C. Hence the necessity and the catharsis ingrained in typing these things out ... it's 20-40 minutes where part of me steps back and views the passage of this vessel through this life, and marks somewhat cohesively which course it chose and why.

Outside of my head, we traveled en-masse from Lusaka to Mongu in one of the agency's Land Cruisers yesterday, leaving at 8:20a and arriving at 5:20p (17:20hrs). Along the way, it started raining west of Kaoma, and it rained intermittently for the rest of the journey. Mongu is a lovely place when it rains; the sandy streets and shoulders of the main roads flatten out and become hard enough to walk upon easily; the air clears of its load of dust and soot, and the grass! Oh, does it grow ... especially in the semi-divinity of the floodplains and along it's margins, the matongo and shishanjo areas.

Before leaving, I took a swipe (pardon the upcoming pun) at what some friends of mine at Grassroots Trust have been promoting and to which I'm slowly signing onto ... the idea that instead of the usual digging operation that is inherent in Zambian weeding cultivation, e.g. "hoeing" or "weeding", you engage in slashing the weeds in the interrow (the space between the lines of maize). I learned this entirely from my friend Sebastian Scott, who like me keeps something of a blog on how to do agriculture in a way that is ultra-conservative of organic matter, inclusive of weed growth. To make a long story short, I intercropped orange maize with black sunnhemp, a heavy nitrogen fixer in our small plot next to our office in Kalundu. Though we've had limited rains in Lusaka, my raking the area into rough terraces and the shade from the trees in the area have helped the maize, and it is surprisingly healthy. Anyway, after watering the little office garden (more on that some other time), I had 30 minutes to slash the sunnhemp down, though  being the total idiot that I am, I neglected to take before (only after) photos.

So what you are looking at is the remnants of the weeds that were before slashing at the same height as the maize. though I am by no means experienced with the one-handed slasher common in Zambia, it was relatively quick to figure out how to slash, e.g. a short swing, standing behind one row of maize and slashing the next, etc. What's left behind is a green mulch that hopefully with contact with the wet soils add a bit of nutrients to the slightly nitrogen deprived maize. More importantly, however, is the increase in light reach the maize leaves vis-a-vi the decrease in shading by plants in the interrow. Last, but not least, I was impressed by the ease of it ... rather than being hunched over hoeing, digging and lifting a blunt piece of dumb iron, I was upright swinging the slasher in short strokes. Noticeably harder on the forearms, but I would trade that any day for the ache in the back, the sore hands, the exhaustion and the time.

Anxious to see how this turns out. 

August 5th, 2015 - The National Ag. Show

ZESCO continues to be an issue impacting work; we had a crap genset (what they call a generator here) that gave out Friday morning, so I went to the Showgrounds for the 2nd day of the National Agriculture Show, or as it's formally known, the Agriculture and Commercial Show of Zambia (ACSZ). 

The Show is a bit of a mystery to many people, mostly because of the spatial confusion that everyone is struck with inside the showgrounds ... this is due to it's organization and the overall lack of straight lines that permeates the Zambian id. 

The official map looks like this:

However, once you get inside, it feels a lot like this: 

I'm sort of bullet-headed when I go in there anymore for the following reasons:

• As the Show days go by, the people attending the stands care less and become nearly unresponsive ... it's a bit like the old Nintendo video games where the characters repeat the same thing over and over;
• At the same time, the number of attendees reaches an absolutely silly level;
• The lack of an index of who's where and showing what (see above, 2nd figure) makes visiting a specific area more of a voyage of discovery in a writhing sea of people;
• Most of the contacts you make never respond, making it a waste of business cards;
• I've been going to the show since 2007 and the amount of change (outside of more large-scale farm equipment) is negligible.

There's many other reasons I hustle in and out, but the biggest is that I know exactly what I want:

• SEEDS, man

Yes, seeds ... the small-scale farmers displays in Lima Hall and at the Women/Youth Stands are like crack for a small-scale agriculturalist; I go and eyeball the provincial stands for oddball seeds ... Tabora beans, sword beans, Congo beans, pinto groundnuts, tree seeds, etc. Usually, I reserve on Fridays and buy on Monday (after the displays are judged) ... ostensibly, the officers (usually provincial level MAL technocrats) sell on behalf of their farmers, but I am neither able nor willing to set up the accountability structures to ascertain that. I just want seeds of every shade to throw at the sands of Western Province to see what might work. 

How did I do this year? Not bad:

1. Sorghum x 4 varieties (15kgs total);
2. Sword beans Canavalia gladiata (5kg);
3. Red lima beans Phaseolus lunatus (5kg);
4. Groundnuts [peanuts] x 3 varieties (speckled, purple, Luena (Natal Common), and White Natal Common);
5. Lab-lab beans Lablab purpureus (5kg);
6. Pigeon peas Cajunus cajun (5kg)
7. New Rice For Africa (Nerica 4, Upland rice) 10 kg
8. Nerica 2, Upland rice 4 kg
9. Traditional maize (Pandawa, red tinted dent) 6kg
10. Angolan (brown) dent maize, 2 cobs
11. Guar Cyamopsis tetragonoloba (handful)

What do I do with these? Not much ... I have approximately 5 square meters in front of my house that can be cultivated (which I have harvested a nice little bit of cowpeas, traditional maize, and lima beans). Nope, they get packaged in quart-sized Ziplocs, labelled with a permanent marker, and shipped out to our lead farmers (60 total) ... it's amazing how they can sort out the planting and observations now, and give relatively good feedback on the performance. I also keep some handfuls for friends and to others who I collaborate on to propagate / multiply the seed ... if we find anything good, we can ramp it up in a hurry. 

It used to be sort of like throwing things out in the wind, but like I said ... now we've got a coterie of farmers who value experimentation and want to do more of it. 

A day in the life ...

Our showers on Monday afternoon are still waiting for an encore. Traveling east to Lusaka from Mongu, I noted how little maize had yet germinated in the fields along the way; the heavy rains have yet to set in, so farmers are accordingly holding off planting maize.

I reflected on that the other day as the guard and I were planting the maize in my spacious back yard ... you have no idea whether it will or won't rain in the upcoming days. There simply is no weather forecasting; ZNBC has a meteorological report that is almost laughable in their vagueness; they tend to use expressions like "it will rain in places in Western Province" or "very warm in Western province", as if sandbagging will reduce their culpability. To their credit, though, the ITCZ moves almost on a whim and the horse latitudes can end up over our heads.

The eight hours on the bus have become something of a routine. Today, the seat had a broken back, so I spent the entire ride leaning back 45 degrees. The ubiquitous kid-on-the-lap-of-a-mother spent much of those eight hours grasping at my temple or pressing his feet against the back of my seat, much to the bemusement of his mother, who refused to believe that the seat was broken. Don't really pay any mind anymore ... I read the summer edition of Lapham's Quarterly, which was themed around the sea, with the presence of mind to skip past the pictures that would appear (or are?) pornographic to a Zambian, such as The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife (look that up yourself) or Ulysses straining against his bonds to join with the scantily clad Sirens.

Periodically, as is my wont, my gaze would remain fixed on the landscape out the window. In the 400 miles east to west, the forest and soils change imperceptibly on the course but notably on the extremes. You leave Mongu, a beach without an ocean, and arrive in Lusaka, islands of rock surrounded by a sea of garbage. In between, you phase agriculturally from cassava interspersed with maize (Mongu / Kaoma), to maize interspersed with tobacco (Kaoma East), to maize interspersed with cotton (Mumbwa). Cotton is deceptive ... untrained eyes mistake the scratch lines for CA basins.

At the end of the journey, I rolled aching off the bus into the melee of Lusaka's Intercity bus terminal, resembling a mobile version of Lot's wife. I went straight to the office to discuss the upcoming meetings next week with the World Bank, NEPAD, and NORAD to form a CSA alliance; my hope is we can shift the conversation from scaling-up (i.e., adding beneficiaries in a stochastic way) to adoption analysis, with a focus on graduating farmers through progressively more technical aspects of CA. Shopped a bit for food; grabbed a burger (to satisfy my Western cravings), came home and wrote up a case study for the annual report. "Watched" (via CBS.com) the sportsticker of Michigan's last-minute loss to Ohio State (why did they go for 2?). Type blog. Rest.

Day by day

Life is strange for me sometimes.

Wednesday I was mugging around the streets of Kaoma looking for nshima ... ironically, Zambia's staple food tends to have peak hours, particularly when it's in the low 40's centigrade. Bumping through every little nshima-shack, I got the same answer:

_ifelile. [it's finished]
...sha? Nibata bubobe, nashiwile tala.[I'm not getting you. I want nshima, I'm dying of hunger]
_autaha fa 17:00 hours. [come back at 5 pm.]

Thursday found me ambling around Kasisi gricultural Training Centre (KATC), a sustainable/organic agriculture training facility run by the Catholic Church / Society of Jesus / etc. chatting with the field operations manager discussing the finer points of composting vs. direct biomass inputs and their relative impacts on nutrient solubility, particularly with the reduction of rock phosphate into usable forms.

Friday I was sitting in Mulungushi International Conference Centre in Lusaka attending a conference hosted by the Permanent Secretary for the Ministry of Agriculture and Livestock on developing and giving feedback on their new national policy paper. After some head scratching, I commented privately to one official that without addressing FRA and FISP (the government's input subsidy program), the stated hope of diversification of crops and marketing were DOA. I kept doodling a skull and crossbones around POLITICAL SUICIDE in my notebook, as never have a seen something so good at painting someone into a corner as the maize subsidies have done to the Zambian government. Wolf by the ears? Tiger by the tail?

Saturday I was in London. Cold. Not enough sheets on the bed nor heat in the room. No wonder they're so pale.

Sunday I'm in Detroit. Not as cold as London. Burger King!

FYI ... I'm surprising my Dad for hunting season / Thanksgiving.

Now, how do I geo-tag this post??

Lusaka and the market of mutual dependencies

I was in Lusaka on Wednesday for a whirlwind tour of downtown to purchase connectors for our waterline that is starting to resemble the Great Wall of China in project duration.

For those of you not familiar with Lusaka, it's essentially a series of neighborhoods that straddle or parallel the main roads in and out of town. Each neighborhood has it's certain demographic, characteristics, etc. For example, Kabulonga and Woodlands are where you'll find all the wealthy, elite Zambians, ex-pats; Longacres, most of the foreign embassies; Emmasdale is where the South Asian business community resides; Mwandevu, the city's gritty northern gateway where the illicit charcoal from the forest reserves all gets dropped off; Mutendere, the shanty compound where half of everyone seems to live on top of each other; and Kalingalinga, one of the sadder places in the universe where you can see old women and little kids breaking stones with hammers for a pittance.

Downtown (or "town" as it's known in the local vernacular) is the great beating heart of Lusaka. It is essentially four streets wide by 10 long that parallel the line-of-rail and the famous Cape-to-Cairo road [Cairo Road] wherein lie endless marches of shops. There is no apparent pattern to the place to the untrained or inexperience mind, but five years of wandering in and out of the place looking for stuff leads to a semblance of geography. However, there is a very simple business concept you have to swallow before you can grasp it [or the market in Zambia] which I term "clustering".

You see, from the smallest market of the side of a dusty road all the way up to Downtown Lusaka, people sell similar items in clusters. For example, if you want tomatoes, you find the place where they sell tomatoes and you find something like 40 women sitting side-by-side with identical piles of tomatoes arrayed in front of them, selling tomatoes at nearly identical prices. It goes the same for beans, dried fish, meat, auto parts, hardware, plumbing, etc. If you (like me) are looking for polypipe connectors, there is a stretch of Freedom Way northeast of the Mumbwa / Lumumba Road junction that has a number of stores that carry plumbing supplies at nearly identical prices right next to each other. Fascinating, too, how these stores operate ... you wander in and are immediately met by a 20-something guy who figures out what you want, and knows instantly whether the store has it or not. If not, he assures you that he'll be right back and sprints off into the mass of people on the sidewalk. A few minutes after staring into the same mass, he reemerges carrying something. With some clarification, he sprints off again; more staring, and then confirmation of a part, or a sad shake of the head that means the part doesn't exist within his circle of influence / associated stores. It works surprisingly well; you might pay a slightly higher price for a particular part (sort of the finder's fee, if you will), but you save a lot of footwork and time. I didn't get exactly what I was looking for, but we were able to improvise a number of single connectors from two or three different pieces. 

The point of all this is that often, the superficial view of Zambian market views is that it is a relatively chaotic mass that lacks organization, order, rules, etc. However, there is a hidden order; many of these clusters serve as mutually beneficial entities. For example, if one of the ladies selling tomatoes needs to rush somewhere for something, another lady will look after her small child(ren) and watch her stand. If there is a good wholesale of tomatoes, that information gets shared out to others, so that a relatively small group of women can corner that sale and set a mutual price on tomatoes in a certain area. It's not a system that supports individual competition; if you set out on your own, you risk ending up a pariah, ostracized, etc. In our relatively introverted [Western] society, this is acceptable ... you can exist on your own penned up within books, Ipods, existing online through an avatar, etc. Here, it is akin to shunning; Zambian society is based on mutual dependencies that allow an individual to survive through association with a group, be it familial, tribal, locative, economic, etc. The closest parallel I can figure in our context would be deep-sea fisherman; though they are in a sense competing with each other, they look out for each other, sharing engine parts, fishing information, etc. less out of a sense of altruism rather than a sense of mutual obligation. If I don't give Captain So-and-so a hand when he's in a pinch, word might get around, and then what do I do if I end up in a tight spot? Neither a wise course in either the literal or figurative sea.

It's tough for Americans [the land-based ones] to wrap their heads around this. For us, reared in the tradition of the Puritan ethic, Horatio Alger, and so forth, it is the individual through her/his luck, skill, shrewdness, determination, perseverance,or a combination of such that get Ragged Dick into a decent life. Here, it's not that you only have to work hard ... you have to look out for your neighbors. That's sort of the reason why development projects that target individuals seem to have little success; they might get ahead for a bit, but jealousy can cause that person to suffer social ostracism, so the advancement has a limiting factor. This is particularly evident where projects seek to help a specific demographic in a "community" (i.e. female-headed households, orphans and vulnerable children, etc.) without recognizing that the remaining demographics in the "community" might be upset over the recognition, support, material goods, etc. that they cannot access.

I'll try to flesh this idea out more as I move along; it's a tough one and I lack much of the equipment to accurately characterize it, but it's worthwhile for me to explore its corners.