A few traditions

Possibly the thing I've enjoyed most about my time in Zambia has been learning about the different traditions. I have not seen all of the different traditions since there are so many, but I have had the opportunity to experience a few of them.

There are many very simple traditions, from the women wearing a chitenge to the different way you greet someone depending on their age and status. I'm just starting to understand the nuances of many of these things and can only hope that I haven't offended anybody during the learning process. Keep in mind that the things I've seen have been traditions for the Bemba tribe. There are seventy something tribes in Zambia so most of these traditions will vary depending on the tribe and age of the people.

The wedding:
There are many different traditional ceremonies surrounding the wedding. The first is called a Matebeto which is kind of like an engagement party. Before the matebeto, the male is not supposed to have eaten any meals in the house of the female. Once the two announce their engagement, the matebeto occurs and is the first meal that the male and his family eat which has been prepared by the female's side. The matebeto is a way in which the woman shows her fiance the type of food she knows how to cook, the type of food that her tribe eats. If the man does not like the food or is disappointed in her cooking he can back out of the wedding.

The matebeto starts at the female's family's home with the chilanga mulilo (sp?). The women start cooking a giant feast very early in the morning. The idea is to cook all of the different types of food that the family knows to prepare. They will cook beans, all the different leaves, kapenta, chikanda, caterpillars, mushrooms, several chickens slaughtered specifically for the occasion, a HUGE pot of nshima. There are 25 or more women sitting around the yard for hours stirring pots over many brassieres, cutting vegetables, pounding ground nuts into peanut butter using a giant mortar and pestle, etc. Of course where there are several women there are even more babies so it is quite the scene. There is drumming and singing and dancing, and when a new woman arrives to help there is a big flurry of singing and shouting and the women will roll and clap on the ground to show their appreciation. There are lots of traditional dances, stirring of the nshima, crawling, rolling... so the whole thing is very entertaining to watch.

Once this giant feast is prepared, the women put it in pots and wrap the pots in a chitenge to transport on their heads to the male's family's home. They sing and dance as they walk to the location of the matebeto. When the women arrive at the house, they dance outside the gate (don't forget they still have pots on their head) and won't come in until the receiving family has thrown enough money at them. At that point, the women enter and go through a whole ritual of singing, dancing, cleaning the man's hands, and presenting the food. The whole time the women will stop at each step until they have received enough money. Once the food has been presented, the women leave the house and go back to clean up the chilanga mulilo house. They don't even get to eat the feast they prepared!! After this matebeto, the man is then allowed to eat any meals prepared by his fiance or her family.

Next is the Kitchen Party, equivalent to a bridal shower. This is a big party where many many women bring something for the kitchen as a gift for the bride. The women all have to wear their nice chitenge suits and expect to have a very good time throughout the afternoon. There is a big meal followed by, you guessed it, lots of singing and drumming and dancing. The bride sits at the front of the ceremony on display the entire time. Each person in attendance is called up to the front where they present the bride with their gift, explaining to her how to use it. So if you have given a set of glasses, you explain that you put drinks in these glasses when you have guests over. Of course the bride usually knows how to use the glasses, but its all a part of the tradition. Once you have presented the bride with your gift, you have to tie another chitenge around your hips and dance for her. I'm told that these parties usually get pretty rowdy. I have only been to one Kitchen Party and there was no alcohol so it was a tame party but I've heard lots of stories of the things that happen at the good ones.

Next is the wedding itself. For the most part the weddings are very similar to our weddings but with a few minor differences. The only one worth mentioning is you only get one little bite of cake, which is wrapped up in foil and put at your seat before you arrive. A bit disappointing. But if it's an open bar it's totally normal, almost expected, to sneak a few bottles of beer into your purse, and to empty out the box of wine on the table into an empty coke bottle for the road. HA!

That's it on the wedding front. There are a couple of other ceremonies that happen when a couple has been married for 15 and 35 years but I don't know enough about them to elaborate.

The funeral tradition is the most eye opening for me. The service irself similar to in the States but what is interesting is the funeral house. I had heard all sorts of stories about the funeral house but didn't expect to have to experience it myself. Unfortunately, a very close coworker and friend of mine passed away about a month ago so I had to experience this moving custom first hand.

When someone passes away, their house becomes the funeral house. All of the decorations, rugs, pictures, everything is stripped from the common rooms and locked up in the bedrooms. The chairs and sofas are moved outside for the men and a couple of bare mattresses are placed in the common room for the wife/mother to sit on until the burial.

It is the wife or mother's duty to mourn violently for the loss. All day everyday they will scream and cry and moan. The more they mourn, the more apparent it is that they had nothing to do with their loved one's death. It is said that if a wife does not mourn properly for her husband, she probably was the cause of his death so the family can take all of the possessions. It is not uncommon for the inlaws to take everything from the funeral house, including the contents of the bank account, and leave the widow with nothing other than a few cooking utensils and 8 kids. The in-laws believe that the man is the one that earned the money to buy these things so it should remain in the family. Ignoring the fact that the woman was too busy raising the 8 kids, tending the garden, and doing laundry by hand to get a job. So now this woman is stuck with nothing and is forced to send her kids off to live with their aunties because she can't afford to keep them. This is starting to happen less and less as women are getting more footing in society but it still makes me very upset to hear about. I digress, back to the funeral house.

More people attend a funeral than a wedding. So when a family member passes away, family from all over the country will make their way to the funeral house and stay until the burial. Keep in mind that these families are BIG. 8 or 10 kids per family is not uncommon. If you ask someone how many cousins they have, without blinking an eye they will say "50 on my mother's side". So in the funeral house at any time there are tons of people.

The women stay inside, and the men have to stay outside except to use the facilities. This means that during the rainy season, they sit all day and sleep outside in the rain. There will be 40 women inside and they sleep, packed like sardines on the bare floor. Only the wife/mother/close family get to sit and sleep on the mattress. There are lots of good stories about fighting over who has to sleep spooning with the crazy snoring auntie who has bad breathe. HA.

So imagine if someone dies on a Wednesday and will be buried on a Saturday, there are 100 people hanging around the house all day, several of them are screaming and crying hysterically. As with African custom the guests are expected to be fed, they do not feed themselves. So, not only does the wife or mother have to worry about mourning properly, they have to figure out a way to pay for and cook food for 100 people three times a day. Did I mention those staying at the funeral house are not allowed to bathe until after the burial? I guess I'd be crying too!

The logistics are a nightmare, yes, but what I didn't expect was how moving the whole thing is. It is expected that all friends, coworkers, and neighbors pass by the funeral house to pay their respects. When my friend died, a whole group of teachers went together to spend some time at the house. All of the women have to wear a traditional chitenge, I came straight from work so I didn't have one with me but they said that I could get away without one, stupid Americans. Other women would be looked down upon if they didn't wear one properly. So we showed up, wandered through the maze of men outside, and made our way barefoot into the funeral house. Of course this is Zambia so we are singing the whole way (after several practice hymns in the bus on the way). When the wife saw us entering the door she started violently crying which was apparently not only for her own sake but also to help us mourn freely as well. We sat on the floor, practically on top of the stranger behind us, and everyone joined in a few more hymns. Then there was a bible reading. Then a song. Then one of the math teachers gave a very powerful speech. I didn't understand a word of it but I cried anyway it was so powerful. There wasn't a dry eye in the place. Then a hymn. Of course any group from Mpelembe has several clergy members so one of the priests in training said a few words. Luckily he's Zimbabwean and had to sprinkle a lot of English in with his Bemba so I could follow what he was saying. Then we sang several more hymns.

For all of the songs there is a song leader, usually a woman. Amazingly, if that woman got too choked up another woman would seamlessly step in and continue in her place. I was very impressed. These people knew every word to every song, every intricate four part harmony, what key to start in... Wow. Even though everyone in the room was from a different church and denomination, they sang so well together that it sounded as if they had practiced for this day every week for a year. We exited the way we had entered, barefoot and singing, without having ever said a word directly to the widow. I tell you I was impressed.

The burial itself is much more vocal. Everyone screams, cries, and sometimes curses at God. When the coffin is dropped (by hand) into the ground there is usually someone who will jump in to cling one last time to the coffin. The men have to pull them off and hold them back while the burial continues. Much more emotionally violent than our very quiet burials.

I wish Americans would cope with death this way. Face it head on and out in the open. Be encouraged to grieve out loud with the whole community participating with bright colors and lots of singing!

Here are some photos from a chilanga mulilo I attended.

Ladies preparing food
















Maize brew fermenting in the calabash for the matebeto
















Mbuya (grandma) preparing everyone's favorite...chikanda or african bologna.















Some chickens about to go in the pot, a tray of caterpillars, and cassava soaking.

















She is pounding pumpkin leaves.




















Cooking the caterpillars.














More preparations.















Finally preparations and packing of the food. I am with the mother of the bride and owner of the house.

The mini bus experience

For Zambia and, from what I can tell, most of southern Africa, people's main mode of transportation is by mini bus. The mini bus is one of the first things I noticed when I arrived in Zambia. On my drive from the airport to my first lodgings, I noticed these blue and white vans driving around that were absolutely crammed with people and looked like they were being held together by twine. I thought to myself, please God let me never have to ride in one of those. Little did I know that I would eventually come to rely on the mini bus for my transportation around Kitwe.

The mini bus is Africa's version of a city bus system. Now, as I said in an earlier blog post all of the mini buses are privately owned and they do not run on a schedule nor are there established routes. All mini buses will pick people up along the road and eventually end up in town. From there, if your final destination was not town, you have to navigate the hectic streets and ask where the pickup spot is to your next location.

When I need to go into town, I head off on foot toward the nearest bus stop which is about half a mile away. The journey into town takes at least 40 minutes so some advanced planning is required. There are some "bus stops"=intersections at which the bus will stop but they are not marked so you just have to know where they are. I will walk to the first bus stop, and if there is not a bus there I will continue to walk toward the next bus stop which is another quarter mile away. Usually along this walk I will either be picked up on the side of the road by a friend, a mini bus or a taxi which will take me and three strangers to town for the price of the bus fair (2,500 Kwacha, about 50 cents).

Now once on the minibus, it is very important to find a seat next to the window. This is for both temperature and odor reasons. The seats are all falling apart, usually not upholstered, and sometimes you're sitting on a footstool. "Protected by the blood of Jesus" or some other spiritually distinguishing mark is plastered on the back window in brightly colored lettering. There are two men operating the bus, the driver and the conductor. The driver drives, and the conductor hangs out the window yelling and waving at people to see if they need a ride. The driver will slowly drive toward town and stop to wait at intersections (sometimes for a very long time) until the bus is full. Once all 20 people (not including babies and children) are crammed into a bus the size of a mini van, the conductor starts collecting money from people. Most people do not have a problem with this, but since my skin looks different they automatically assume I'm both rich and ignorant. If I give them a larger bill than is needed they will usually not give me my change until I ask for it. When they do give change, they will not give me enough. I have to keep asking until I get the proper amount of money back.

Usually one of three things happens while I'm on the bus. The most common scenario and my favorite is when everyone just leaves me alone. Scenario 2 is when people start talking with me, turn around to stare at me, kids touch my hair, etc. I'll get the usual questions, where are you from, why are you here, how long have you been here, are you married, why not, don't you want to get married, aren't you too old to be single, do you want to marry me and take me back to the USA with you? Ugh. Congratulations, you're the 200th man to ask me that, you've just won a trip to the USA!!!!!! Scenario 3 is when there is some type of incident. This makes for a horrible mini bus trip. Usually this scenario starts when the conductor starts talking about me in Bemba, and laughing at me. Most people are very nice and will not laugh with him but there are always a couple that think it's hilarious that a muzungu is riding on the bus and that I don't know what they're saying. Sometimes I'll make some smart remark about the conductor and anyone on the bus that speaks English will laugh at him. That usually shuts him up. If no one speaks English or no one laughs I just sit and look out the window and ignore them. Thankfully this is happening less and less since the conductors are getting used to having me on their bus, and for the most part I've become a normal passenger.

So, 20 minutes (sometimes excruciating minutes) later we arrive in town and the driver will pull into the "station" and let the passengers out. The "station" is the streets of a few city blocks lined with hundreds of these blue and white buses. Its absolute madness, I'm amazed that anyone ends up on the right bus.

So, when my shopping is done I'll head back to the station and find the bus to Mpelembe. There is a designated area that the buses are headed toward Mpelembe. Half of the buses at this station will go to Mpelembe, the other half go to the Chipata compound (high density, low imcone area). I made the mistake once of getting on this bus. From then on out I was very sure to ask the passengers (not the conductor since he will tell me yes either way) if the bus is going to Mpelembe to be sure to get a straight answer. So then you sit on the bus in the station until it has filled up. While waiting, sometimes the conductor will shout advertisements to those passing, "don't miss out, this is your chance to ride the mini bus with a muzungu". I've developed fairly thick skin but this type of thing really gets to me. Anyway, off we go, sometimes 2 minutes, sometimes 20 later. When someone needs to be let off, he knocks on the bus frame to signal it's their stop. Then either everyone between him and the door have to get out to let him pass or he steps awkwardly over their knees. It's really quite the experience.

Sometimes there are live chickens on the bus, sometimes the person next to you will hand you their child to sit on your lap so they don't have to pay the child's fare, sometimes a hub cap will fall off and the bus stops while the conductor runs down the road to collect it, sometimes the tire goes flat and all the passengers wait outside until it is fixed, sometimes the bus just plain breaks down and you have to find another way home.

Never a dull moment I tell you. I find it all very frustrating but the locals have a different view. My friend Mulenga told me that most people consider it entertaining. She's been to the UK and doesn't know if she would enjoy living there, in a world where everything works so flawlessly. She asks me, where's the entertainment in that? What would you have to talk and laugh about with the family once you got home? At first I was too American minded to appreciate this bit of wisdom. My goal is to get to the destination as efficiently and pleasantly as possible and any deviation to the plan is unacceptable. Then it hit me, what's the difference between pulling over to fetch a hub cap and sitting in traffic behind an accident on the 405? I guess everywhere has their own version of a traffic jam, the difference is that some end in road rage while others end in a good laugh over nshima.

I don't have many good pictures. Mini bus drivers scare me so I try not to upset them by taking their photo :)


A mini bus piled high with luggage on a long distance route














People loading into a bus at the markets.















Literally held together by twine