Reckless Driving and Corruption

Yesterday, on my way back from Lusaka, I was stopped by the police for reckless driving at which time I received my second ticket since being in Zambia. Good thing they don’t keep track of tickets because if I continued at this rate I will have my license revoked.

Let me paint the scenario for you. I am following Lawrence Temfwe from Lusaka to Ndola, and Lawrence is what we would term a “speed demon.” On the road from Lusaka to Ndola, he averages 80 mph. That is totally fine with me, but I was not cited for reckless driving when I was going 80 mph. I was cited for reckless driving when I was driving 35 mph!

While following Lawrence, we came upon a truck that was going 20 mph. Lawrence passed the car right before a curve, but I said to myself that it would be reckless and dangerous to pass on the curb. When we came to the next straight away though, I did pass the truck. Unfortunately for me, the police officer who saw me said that I passed on a solid white line. Who cares that the lines are not visible on the road or that the car was going 20 mph on a road where the average speed is 65 mph.

The point of the story is not to prove my innocence because technically I was breaking the law. The point of the story is to illustrate my first encounter with corruption. While paying my ticket (you have to pay on the spot), the lady told us that we could pay half the amount of the ticket, but that we would not get a receipt. That means the money would go into her pocket, and that there would be no record of my wrong.

It was very tempting to just pay her the money and move on. The way they said it made bribery feel innocent and harmless. I internally debated what to do for about a minute. I finally decided to pay the full amount for two reasons. First, I knew that it was the right thing to do. I could not contribute to a corrupt society. I wish this was the main reason that I paid the full amount, but it was not. The main reason was that I would much rather have more of my money go to the Zambian government than some of my money to a corrupt policewoman. If she had been nice to me, maybe I would have decided to pay her the pocket money.

Before this experience, it was so easy for me to look down on people that feed the system of corruption, but until you are in that situation, do not judge. It would have been so easy for me to pay that woman and drive quickly on my way. No one would have known. Moral of the story: don’t judge until you have experienced it yourself. Next moral of the story: I have a disdain for authority. Immediately after I was given the ticket, I began to drive more recklessly. The ticket did not curb my behavior because I thought to myself, “If you are going to charge me for a vacuous offense, I am going to make sure I get my money’s worth.”

Life Changes

So I have been thinking a lot lately about changes I have made in my life because of my experience in Zambia. Let me start with the biggest and most significant. I ONLY WEAR ONE SHIRT! O.k. I have to admit that I still wear one undershirt and a collared shirt sometimes, but many times I wear a collared shirt without an undershirt. For those of you who don’t know me, this is a BIG change in my lifestyle.

Ever since 7th grade, I have worn at least two shirts at all times. Most times I wore three shirts, and sometimes I wore four if I wore a sweater. My brother and many others have relentlessly made fun of me for this freak characteristic. Wearing at least two shirts always made me feel safe. It was a way of being prepared for any freak accidents that could happen in a day. It was also a fashion deal for me. I would always match my undershirt with some part of my outer clothing. Sometimes I matched it with the Polo man on my outer shirt. Other times I would match my undershirt and my flip flops. Other days I would wear three shirts and all of them would match in some way. I know that now that I was being ridiculous. It was a big deal for me, but those days are over.

After all of these years it has finally gotten too hot to wear two shirts. One day I wore a collared shirt without an undershirt, and I really enjoyed it. Therefore, I started doing it more often and actually dread some days when I have to wear an undershirt. What’s next? No shirt? No comment.

In all seriousness, I have been thinking about the changes I have/ will make because of my experience in Zambia. This is just the first one that popped into my head. I promise to write about some serious changes soon.

International Women’s Day and Youth Day

How many of you knew that yesterday, March 8th, was International Women’s Day? If you did, did you celebrate? Well, I celebrated because International Women’s Day is a holiday in Zambia. Don’t ask me. From the information I can gather nobody does anything out of the ordinary except that no one goes to work. I cleaned up my house, went for a run, went out to lunch with some friends, and did work from home. There is not much to do in Ndola on days off; therefore, I don’t appreciate the holidays here as much as I appreciate the holidays in the states.

The weirdest thing though is that this is not the only federal holiday this week in Zambia. Friday, March 12th, is Youth Day. I am not making these things up. All offices are closed on Friday to celebrate the youth of Zambia. I thought Americans were the only ones to take weird holidays. I was wrong. It looks like it is a worldwide trend.

So, if you don’t want to go into work on Friday just claim that you are Zambian and have to celebrate Youth Day. I am sure that your boss will buy it. I will write you a note if you need one. To validate your claim go take a kid to the park. I think that I am going to work on Friday so someone can claim my day off for themselves. Now I am off to celebrate another people group. I wonder which one we get to celebrate next week. Babies? Aborigines? WASPs?

Zambian Cultural Value: Hierarchy

Let us continue our previous discussion of Zambian cultural values. Another thing that Zambians value is their hierarchy. I think a few of the reasons for this are because of the age issue previously discussed and because of the lingering effects of the colonial age which only ended 35 years ago. Whatever the reason, one must know that you are not supposed to disagree with someone who is above you in the hierarchy.

This hierarchy can be a social hierarchy or a tangible hierarchy such as those that exist in the churches many times. Whatever the hierarchy, I have never enjoyed or liked hierarchical structures. I understand that if used properly they can increase efficiency, order, and delegation of responsibilities. At the same time, I think that many times within hierarchies leaders try to create minions who will not question their authority. We many times call these people “yes men.” They always tell the leader that he is right and never disagree with his opinion.

I have never and will never operate as a “yes man.” My mother said that I have been like this since birth. I was your prototypical strong willed child who when told to do something would immediately push back against that command. I am still that way to this day. You can be the President of the United States, and if I don’t agree with your opinion, I am going to express myself. Of course, I always try to do it in a respectful manner that does not devalue the person, but I will express myself. The Zambian culture does not value this trait unfortunately.

One of the main places you observe this hierarchical structure is within the church. Most churches have a bishop, and no bad word is every spoken against the bishop. The red carpet is rolled out for these men which also annoys me. I am of the opinion that everyone should be treated equally, but in Zambia your treatment depends on your position in the hierarchy. In my opinion things are this way in America, but they are more overt in Zambia about it. In America, we just put up a facade many times to cover up our treatment of people within the hierarchy.

Let me again state that I love the order and structure of many high church traditions. That is one of the reasons why I love Anglican and Presbyterian churches. At the same time though if the bishop is not preaching truth or is not being held accountable, I have no problem with questioning him. I have gotten many a looks when I have questioned what a bishop says. I have also gotten many looks when I have questioned the treatment of bishops compared to the poor. In general, I have just gotten looks because I question things too much. I don’t just accept things, but in Zambia the prevailing attitude is acceptance without questioning.

Whether I like it or not, I am having to learn how to stroke people’s egos to accomplish what needs to be accomplished. O.k. stroking someone’s ego sounds bad. Let’s say I am having to learn how to efficiently operate within this hierarchical structure. I can butter up the police officers with the best of them (there is a good southern phrase for you, “butter up.” I still got it :). Let me translate my conversation with a police officer for you. “How are you today, sir? Yes sir, I have all of the documents right here. Thank you so much, sir. Have a nice day!” really means “This is a pointless checkpoint and procedure, and unfortunately I am presently questioning whether you are corrupt. I know though if I stroke your ego and feign my respect that things are going to go a lot smoother for me.” Maybe, I need to just stop feigning my respect for people and actually give them respect. The problem is again that I do not respect someone based upon their position, but I respect someone based upon who they are. What is worse: my feigning of respect or actually disrespecting them?

O.k. my analysis sounds worse than the reality of the situation. I have not challenged the authority as much as I have wanted, and I have only upset one person when challenging authority. It is something that I try to approach very cautiously, and I often times have learned to hold my tongue and nod my head, a.k.a. stroke people’s ego, because of the sensitivity of the cultural situation. The key is learning when to challenge. I think that it is in relationships that we are able to challenge the cultural values held by all people. That is why the most honest discussions which I have had have been with my coworkers at the Jubilee Centre. If anything, I have probably not challenged as much as I should. (I keep it bottled up inside. It’s a real healthy procedure you should try sometimes.) Lawrence Temfwe is constantly telling me to challenge more often people’s assumptions at the Jubilee Centre. It is a constant learning experience for me because through this experience I am coming to a greater understanding of the values I hold and why I hold them. My value of time, efficiency, and success is constantly being challenged, and I am having to wrestle with why I value those qualities. Needless to say, I am learning a lot.

How Old Are You?

One thing that you have to know about Zambia culture is that age matters. If you are young, it is very hard, if not impossible, to earn respect. Leadership and authority are based upon age. I knew this coming to Zambia, and I knew that it would be difficult to start and lead a program because of this fact.

Therefore, I took proactive steps to make myself appear older. For example, I grew out my facial hair so that I would look older. I will admit that my goatee does not look good, but it does make me look older. Another step I took was to make sure that I was extremely professional when interacting with the teachers. This includes making sure that I am extremely knowledgeable about the subjects that I am teaching. It also includes telling my credentials in a positive light. When people ask what I did before coming to Zambia, I always say that I taught school in the inner-city of Washington D.C. and got my Masters in Education. I never tell them how many years I taught unless they ask. This has been a difficult line to walk though because I have also tried to develop personal relationships with the teachers and many times the professional and personal do not mix. I feel in many ways that I have been successful in this endeavor though.

My feelings were validated this past week. After the training session on Thursday, I drove one of the teachers home. During our time in the car we began to talk, and he told me that his birthday was next week. Of course, I told him congratulations and asked him how old he was going to be. He told me 26, and I thought to myself, “Oh crap! You are my youngest teacher. Don’t ask how old I am?” (I am 25 by the way.) Unfortunately, my fears were validated when he did ask how old I was. I turned the tables on him though and asked him how old he thought I was. He briefly paused, thought for a second, and then said that he thought I was in my mid-thirties. VICTORY!

How many times in life do people rejoice when someone thinks they are ten years older than they actually are? How many times will I rejoice at that fact? What would my response be if you told me at 30 that I looked and acted 40? Whatever the case, to be successful in Zambia I needed to convince people that I am old and have the right to speak. I wish that the culture was not that way, but I cannot change that. But to do the work which I have been assigned, I just have to work to exude the qualities which the culture values. And one of those happens to be age.