my brain is melting

ok, you know that line in mean girls where lindsey lohan says about the plastics "if Northshore were US weekly, they would always be on the cover."? well, if sinda were US weekly, I would always be on the cover (or my "neighbor" lashaya). I am the Britney Spears of Sinda. Sometimes I thank heavens that no one here can afford a camera otherwise they would constantly take pictures of me! The headmaster of the school has a camera - I had to pose with his children during a long jump competition. In the "Stars - they're just like us!" column there would be phrases like "They Eat Groundnuts!" (groundnuts are peanuts, the "they" is americans) "They've heard of okra!" "Their bikes get flat tires!" There would be a feature article incorrectly analyzing my reading material with a long lens blurry photograph as evidence. They would see a blue hardcover book and decide it was a bible, then would be a side panel that gave advice on which church would be best for me. (the blue book was actual Anthony Bourdain's "A Cook's Tour" it was torture to read) The cover story would read "Kelly sick with Malaria! - Why is the health volunteer so unhealthy?" I don't actually have malaria. I have a cold, and infected feet, and some tummy issues. In short, I never want to be famous. I hate that everyone knows everything about me, that I have to say hello and be friendly to everyone - the minute I ignore a child's shout of "Bwanji!" (and here I should mention that they are usually hidden 25 yds from the path behind a tree so i can't even see them), the whole community will think i'm a bitch. I get special treatment everywhere I go. I always have to sit with the men, which sucks because they usually want to know why I'm not marrying a black man (= african man) and/or whether I'll take them to america. People laugh at everything I say, no matter what language I use - as I walk away I can hear the imitations. they give me food all the time - food i don't want, can't refuse, and that they need. Everyone wants to sell me stuff. The other day I bought 2 buns (rolls) from the tuck shop (dark, "convenience" store with overpriced lotion and matches behind the counter) and all the kids who follow me were snickering "only 2! last time she bought 3!" Seriously, I know how Paris Hilton feels.

In other news I've been very up and down since I arrived at site. At first I thought "wow! these people are awesome, totally motivated, on the ball, excited, friendly. It's beautiful, warm, what's not to like?" Although I should mention that my first night I was so intimidated I just sat on my floor eating yogurt. It was rough. But then I jumped right in. I had meetings (truly awful affairs where I can only understand when they are talking about money because they use english numbers, and then I'm expected to say something magical and smart, but end up saying "my name is kerry and i come from america"), I cooked, I "organized" my house (I have no furniture), I met people, I started to figure things out. Now I just feel lonely and unhappy. I don't leave my house very often. I cook fabulous things and I have no one to share them with. Everytime I go to a new place I have to endure hours of people staring and laughing at me. It's rough - and i'm glad to be in chipata for a few days.

I've seen Nyau dancing. It's a cultural thing the Chewas do for entertainment all the time. Nyau's are secret dancers that wear scary masks and loincloths and carry big sticks so they can threaten to beat the children. i see them in the day recruiting women to sing and scaring kids and then when they dance the kids are magically less afraid, despite the fact that the Nyau's "handlers" keep trying to keep the kids back. I learned Chitumwali, the erotic dance that only women who are of age know. I sat in a small hut with about 25 topless women of varying ages, their breastfeeding infants, and drums. They were impressed with my hip isolation skills (thank you, bellydance). It was an interesting day. i have a chewa name: Chisomo Phiri. Chisomo means Grace so they usually call me that. Phiri is practically everybody's last name. The traditional birth attendents gave me that name since Kelly Buckmen is very difficult for them to say. I can carry 20L of water on my head.

Horrifying Story: My 7th night I woke up COVERED in ants at 2am. My bed was a mattress on top of a reed mat - and my house is made of mud. It was awful. I sprayed doom all over - then nearly died of fume inhalation. The next day my neighbor mr. Phiri (who has at least 9 kids, unknown # of wives, a motorcycle and lives and works in clinic houses, but I don't think he's employed by the government, he's just "in charge") stole me a metal bedframe from his eldest son. At first I felt bad, but then I thought "fuck it" that kid lives in a concrete house with a tin roof, is a boy and is used to it!

He's a list of awesome things I've cooked on my coal brazier: butternut squash stew and couscous, sweet and sour fried rice, indian frybread with spicy beans, corn tortillas with beans cabbage, thai stir fry with green beans, curry mac and cheese, fritters, fried bananas and nutella, butter curry lentils with cabbage, and the classic fried egg.

For entertainment I read. I've read 2 national enquirers, 3 us weeklys, 2 stars, cosmo, The Other Boleyn Girl, Opening the Buddhist Heart, Anybody Out There by Marian Keyes, One Hundred Years of Solitude, 4 Blondes by candace bushnell, A Cook's Tour, and Size 12 is Not Fat by Meg Cabot. I also attempt drawing and i'm not too shabby at watercolor. I do all this in my yard behind the relative privacy of my grass fence on my reed mat. Everyday at 5 i listen to Border Crossings on Voice of America and then the BBC, then i go to sleep.

My Address:
Kerry Beckman
Private bag 4
Sinda, Zambia
Africa

send letters! i have plenty of time to write back to you!

also i miss everyone immensely.