Half way through my masters here at Yale, I returned home to Zambia to do an internship in the rural east of which is 450 miles away from my hometown. I still remember the shock on my grandparents faces when I told them of my plans to travel to the east.
“This girl has come back from America and now wants to spend two months in the village.”
My plan did not fit with their expectations of a city raised granddaughter recently returned from Yale. With my sanity in question they asked why. I explained that I was going to work on community conservation projects: The east of Zambia is known for smallholder farms that produce some of the best sweet potatoes and groundnuts in Zambia, tribal ceremonies like the Chewa Kalumba ceremony and the Ngoni N’cwala traditional ceremony, powerful witchcraft, and lots of forests (many threatened by deforestation). I was determined to learn everything I could from this rich landscape and culture.
On the day of my departure, my Agogo (grandmother) left a large bag of groundnuts and two bottles of water on the table for the 12 hour bus ride with a note saying: “Take these, you’ll need them for the journey ahead, safe travels Muzukulu!” The conductor said a prayer for our safety which is custom as many buses crash speeding through the windy, bumpy roads to Lundazi.
On my first day of my internship with the community conservation market, I was paired with Mr. Lungu, an agronomist and beekeeper, and Brian a forester to start our agroforestry extension work. Mr, Lungu stood in front of the rusty truck, on the front of the vehicle in bold letters was the word, TATA.
“Muli wuli a dumbo” Mr. Lungu said to me as I struggled to open the door.
‘What?” I responded. Oh no, I don’t understand the language, I’m gonna be treated like as an outsider here, I worried
“How are you? You don’t speak Tumbuka?” Mr. Lungu asked.
“I don’t. But I can speak Nyanja!” I said enthusiastically.
He smiled and spoke to me again: “Okay, Mwa uka bwanji?”
“Na wuku Bwino, Zikomo.” I replied with an eager smile.
I climbed into the front seat of the TATA, and Brian called some men to help push the vehicle. Mr. Lungu was in the driver's seat to direct the truck, the men pushed with all their might, and just as they were about to lose their breath the TATA gave a big roar, we were off.
Mr. Lungu started the conversation:
“How come, your name, Thokozile, is a Tumbuka name but you don’t speak the language?”
I explained that I was not Tumbuka, I am Bemba from Chief Chitimumulu’s village in Kasama. My grandmother is Tumbuka, but she never spoke to any of us in Tumbuka.”
Mr. Lungu became curious: “Well, do you speak Bemba?”
“Not very well!” I sighed. I felt like I was being exposed as a Bemba fraud. Knowing my village, and the name of our tribal chief did not feel like enough. Hell, I had never even been to my village in Kasama!
“Could you teach me how to speak Tumbuka?” I asked Mr. Lungu.
I soon learned that Mr. Lungu loved to teach. He taught me the basics of Tumbuka like muli uli a mama, and said this greeting would make the mothers in the village happy. He taught me several other phrases that I quickly noted in my field journal to make sure I didn’t forget.
As we got to know each other on the drive, Mr. Lungu informed me that he used to be a powerful Mfwiti. Mfwiti translates to witch or wizard in English, but I believe a more appropriate translation is healer. He told me of how he performed rituals, could fly, and strike people down on command. Oh damn! I thought. Everyone warned me about the powerful witchcraft going on in the East and to stay away. Now here I am sitting next to an actual Mfwiti. Mr. Lungu continued: “But I am no longer a wizard,” he let out a laugh.
The sound of the TATA made it difficult to hear Mr. Lungu or Brian, but Brian never said much. He spent most of the ride asleep. To my surprise, he managed to sleep in the TATA despite how the truck rattled and the bumps sent us flying in our seats.
As we neared our destination Mr. Lungu explained to me:
“Farm is Munda but garden is Dimba, you’ll need to remember that because we going to teach conservation agriculture to smallholders dealing with food insecurity.”
When we arrived at the village, we were greeted by women with warm smiles and curious looks. I noticed there were mostly women at the farm, unlike the leadership meetings I attended where there were few women.
“We are hungry!” yelled a very skinny man of short stature: “You people were supposed to help us but we are still hungry!” he continued.
Mr. Lungu sprung into action. This is why we are here, he reassured the group. We are here to teach you farming strategies to help increase your yields. These organic farming strategies will help you protect your land from degradation, and save you money. He kept his audience engaged and spoke in a very animated way as he demonstrated how to make organic compost using agroforestry tree species Gliricidia.
Mr. Lungu proclaimed to the group that as long as they do what he had shown them - they will have increased crop yields in one year! The women cheered and an older woman began leading the group in song
“Taku Daliseni Yaya!”
“Iyaya!” responded the rest of the group.
The women called out “Wuyu wuyu wuyu” in celebration of Mr. Lungu’s promise.
Another elder woman brought out a bowl of groundnuts to share with the group. I watched as the bowl went around, and hands opened to receive one by one. I was amazed that people who were struggling with food insecurity would share the little they had with everyone. I hesitated to take groundnuts at first, but took a few to show my respect and appreciation. Next to me was a young woman, no older than 22 carrying a baby who rested peacefully on her back, the warm sunlight made their faces glow.
“Muli uli a mama” I greeted her.
With a warm smile she responded “Makola.”
After the workshop, Mr. Lungu purchased every person a cold drink and bun to eat. We arranged ourselves in a circle under the Gliricidia trees to get away from the scorching heat, and ate together. Sitting on the ground and sharing food my heart felt full. Although I was a stranger, I was welcomed with open arms and treated like a member of the community. I experienced the most generosity in a place with food insecurity. As we sat together eating and exchanging smiles, there were no feelings of lack.
In a culture based in reciprocity,
Giving is a source of joy,
And abundance is created through sharing.
