Don't ride with someone who is driving in the snow. Don't ice-skate without a helmet. Don't start the gas barbecue unless someone is watching you at least ten metres back. Don't get into any boat unless you're wearing a CSA-approved life preserver. Don't walk the streets of Toronto after dark.
What might a person in Zambia tell a friend who is going to spend a year in Canada? I have no idea. But I suppose that a well-researched list of warnings might just do the trick to keep the person safe. All good advice, perhaps, if you're not living in Canada.
Don't wash your clothes with river water. Don't eat food from the street. Don't drink the tap water. Don't go outside without bug spray.
Splendid advice that I heard again and again, mostly from well-read people who had never spent a minute in Zambia.
Don't take rides from strangers.
Hitch-hiking is not only common practice in Zambia, but truly the only consistently affordable and reliable means of transportation. The thumbs-up sign is fairly rare to see; usually, people flap their wrists at on-coming traffic. Everyone's got their own thing, though. For me, I usually hold my hand out and partly bow, making eye-contact with the driver; it works as well as any other method I have seen.
I have ridden with a variety of drivers, all men. About half were driving transports to or from the mine. One was a family vehicle; they charged double the typical rate. Once was a businessman in an otherwise empty SUV; he charged nothing.
One truck driver, referring to his wife in the back seat (unspeaking, likely unsure of English), said to me, "You see, I travel with my wife; you think this is OK?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"But you, I see, you do not travel with your wife."
I laughed, "I know."
"You are perhaps jealous of me?"
"Yes I AM," I said, and assured him that when Kirsten arrives, there would be nothing that would take us apart ever again.
"Yes, I think that is good," he said, taking a long drink of Savanna, a locally brewed cider.
"You have the right idea," I said.
"Yes, I do."
The most frequent question: "How many languages are there in Canada?"
Followed by the very similar question: "How many tribes are there in Canada?"
I answer this question honestly. I say that there are many languages, perhaps as many or more than Zambia. But many of them are hardly spoken anymore. The English also colonized Canada, but never really left. And even today, languages and tribes are being lost. I also tell them that within Canada, people speak languages from every country in the world.
It is an elaborate answer, but not only is it truer than saying "English and French", but it is also very easily understood by the people here. The idea of only English and French existing in Canada is inconceivable to a people for whom even the uneducated classes speak nine languages fluently. But the idea that the European hegemon managed to assimilate or repress the Canadian languages is very plausible. Most of what I describe about Western culture seems rather terrible to most rural folks that I have spoken to here; but describing various First Nations cultures seems to resonate, to the point of not particularly impressing them.
Early on, I tried writing during the hour-long trip to Solwezi. This was an epic fail. The road is so bumpy and full of cracks and potholes that it is impossible to make out anything that was written, and anything that was was a stream of consciousness being disturbed. With the countryside now becoming my norm, however, I have sometimes taken to reading on the trip when it is clear that there is a language barrier and conversation is neither feasible nor really welcome. This too can be challenging, but a mere matter of getting used to new parameters.
I don't have the name of a single person from whom I've hitched a ride; it's not something that seems to happen. All are but brief exchanges, signs of generousity or mutual benefit, all a part of the rhythm. I don't suppose it's any more ridiculous than driving in the snow, after all, with the same desired effect, and with greater possibility of something meaningful along the way.
What might a person in Zambia tell a friend who is going to spend a year in Canada? I have no idea. But I suppose that a well-researched list of warnings might just do the trick to keep the person safe. All good advice, perhaps, if you're not living in Canada.
Don't wash your clothes with river water. Don't eat food from the street. Don't drink the tap water. Don't go outside without bug spray.
Splendid advice that I heard again and again, mostly from well-read people who had never spent a minute in Zambia.
Don't take rides from strangers.
Hitch-hiking is not only common practice in Zambia, but truly the only consistently affordable and reliable means of transportation. The thumbs-up sign is fairly rare to see; usually, people flap their wrists at on-coming traffic. Everyone's got their own thing, though. For me, I usually hold my hand out and partly bow, making eye-contact with the driver; it works as well as any other method I have seen.
I have ridden with a variety of drivers, all men. About half were driving transports to or from the mine. One was a family vehicle; they charged double the typical rate. Once was a businessman in an otherwise empty SUV; he charged nothing.
One truck driver, referring to his wife in the back seat (unspeaking, likely unsure of English), said to me, "You see, I travel with my wife; you think this is OK?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"But you, I see, you do not travel with your wife."
I laughed, "I know."
"You are perhaps jealous of me?"
"Yes I AM," I said, and assured him that when Kirsten arrives, there would be nothing that would take us apart ever again.
"Yes, I think that is good," he said, taking a long drink of Savanna, a locally brewed cider.
"You have the right idea," I said.
"Yes, I do."
The most frequent question: "How many languages are there in Canada?"
Followed by the very similar question: "How many tribes are there in Canada?"
I answer this question honestly. I say that there are many languages, perhaps as many or more than Zambia. But many of them are hardly spoken anymore. The English also colonized Canada, but never really left. And even today, languages and tribes are being lost. I also tell them that within Canada, people speak languages from every country in the world.
It is an elaborate answer, but not only is it truer than saying "English and French", but it is also very easily understood by the people here. The idea of only English and French existing in Canada is inconceivable to a people for whom even the uneducated classes speak nine languages fluently. But the idea that the European hegemon managed to assimilate or repress the Canadian languages is very plausible. Most of what I describe about Western culture seems rather terrible to most rural folks that I have spoken to here; but describing various First Nations cultures seems to resonate, to the point of not particularly impressing them.
Early on, I tried writing during the hour-long trip to Solwezi. This was an epic fail. The road is so bumpy and full of cracks and potholes that it is impossible to make out anything that was written, and anything that was was a stream of consciousness being disturbed. With the countryside now becoming my norm, however, I have sometimes taken to reading on the trip when it is clear that there is a language barrier and conversation is neither feasible nor really welcome. This too can be challenging, but a mere matter of getting used to new parameters.
I don't have the name of a single person from whom I've hitched a ride; it's not something that seems to happen. All are but brief exchanges, signs of generousity or mutual benefit, all a part of the rhythm. I don't suppose it's any more ridiculous than driving in the snow, after all, with the same desired effect, and with greater possibility of something meaningful along the way.
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