Some of these clinics are more urban than others (e.g. Katete Urban Health Centre - just down the road). Really I wanted to go to a Clinic further afield to see what the conditions were like. Ideally I would also love it if someone could show me around a typical village and explain how it worked and what all the different structures were used for.
As often happens, despite my 'best' efforts, the job was left until the last week of our stay. The only day that Natalie and I (accompanied by Will and Nat's Mum) could do was Wednesday (yesterday). I looked on the rota in the ARV Dispensary and asked 'Where is Kasenengwa? Is it very rural?'
My friend Jacob started to answer with a description of where it was but soon handed me over to a gentleman who had been waiting for a print out. I didn't know who he was but I was soon to find out.
'No! It is not VERY rural' [And so began a reasonably long description of what very rural constitutes in his mind. I knew I was being chastised for being sloppy with my language - I had been talking to friends originally. Before we came my father had suggested that people might find my description of Katete as 'the middle of nowhere' slightly offensive. Here I was demonstrating the point very nicely and justifiably getting my comeuppance. I listened attentively]. 'There are places that are very rural where the villages are cut off for 3 months of the year by the Luangwa river and they have to survive with no contact from the outside world and only a few radios. That is very rural. Kasenengwa is not.'
When the gentleman left my friends laughed. 'I'm sorry about him. He wanted to be MP for Kasenengwa but he wasn't chosen. He was quite rude to you... It is very rural!'
And so it turned out (apologies to the local aspiring MP). We drove halfway to Chipata and then turned off the road onto a dirt track for at least half an hour. We were well off the electricity by then, and, that's my definition of very rural!
The health centre looks reasonably newly built. It is large and well appointed. Actually we thought it might be a little better than the current OPD at St Francis'. The Clinical Officer was away so the Nurse gratefully took up Nat's offer to assist in seeing patients.
This left Will, Nat's Mum and I to entertain ourselves. We went for a little walk but, not knowing much Nyanja, we weren't able to discover much about how people lived. I made friends with some school children (standard) and we found ourselves sitting about.
I knew I needed to ask someone to take us around but people were still getting established and the clinic was busy. I've also learned that these things tend to sort themselves out one way or another and I shouldn't worry about them too much (something that the Healthcare Partner at work has tried to teach me in the past :) ). Eventually the others got restless so I approached Jacob. Shortly a man was found to take us around.
I was expecting a short trip to the nearest village and a cursory look at the living conditions. But after village 1 (where we'd got to go inside the cooking block, which was formerly a bedroom) we were taken to another small village then the largest nearby village. Everything was explained with great attention to detail and only a few men sat around a pool table had asked us for money.
I got to ask all the questions that I had! Which must have seemed many to the others, for Nat's Mum observed 'It's funny, Charlotte, you are interested in very different things from us' and 'You are very nosy, why are you asking what they are cooking for lunch?' Well, I wanted to know! I didn't want to come and live out here and spend 6 months in a brick building with a tin roof, running water, flush loo, electricity etc and not understand properly how the majority of the locals lived. So now I've seen it and asked about it and I can go home feeling that I have some reasonable understanding of what it is to be a poor Zambian.
Chickens
You might remember that we bought 2 live chickens for Christmas but ended up not using them. One was eaten a while ago as curry but the other has been waiting in the freezer for a prime moment. The freezer did look a little odd given that it contained a chicken, sliced bread, ice cubes and two different types of gin.
Last night it was my turn to turn the dressed chicken into lumps suitable for a chicken 'stew' [Nat's mum doesn't like curry]. We had tried to defrost it in the fridge but clearly there hadn't been any power cuts yesterday because it was still mostly frozen. I put it in the sink and took our little vegetable knife (the only sharp knife we have). Something wasn't quite right but Geoff was busy. I made a deep cut along the middle but then couldn't work out what to do from there. The legs also looked funny. Time to call in the back up...
'You've got it upside down' Rigghhtttt, that would do it. I turned it over - that looked better. I tried the same cut - 'No! you need to go to the side of the midline - that's just bone!' This was not going well. After a short while I revealed the breast but it took a long time to get the meat off and I wasn't sure I'd got down to the rib cage. I tried to remember what I'd been taught by Surgeons about considering the anatomy of the muscles and cutting sympathetically, but with a tiny knife and frozen meat it was harder than they made it sound. The leg in particular seemed to be mostly tendon. Eventually I finished side 1.
Emboldened I decided to be more decisive the second time. I cut down hard on the breast - there was a load bang sound and the knife jolted down. This time, it transpired, I had not only found the rib cage but cut through one of the ribs entirely. :) Oh well, at least I'd got all the meat off the breast. I have a new found admiration for butchers, although I think the chicken had mostly frozen my hands by this point!
Eventually enough meat was removed to feed us all. I was reminded of Abraham's comment that I should really have learnt how to do all things chicken in my time here. I think I'm happy to understand how Zambians kill chickens, how we kill chickens (in factories with machines), and what to do with prepared chicken. Chicken to eat comes from the supermarket... not the garden
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