Finally home!

My house

As the plane landed on the simple one lane runway, I felt a pull towards the familiar. Not home, exactly, but to a place I knew in a sense, a place to be comfortable, and a place to hopefully call home soon. The dry brown landscape faded green scrub brush and thin plumes of smoke from burning garbage in the distance. Hand painted advertisements next to the airport building touted the wonders of both competing cellular companies. Arriving in Zambia was very much like arriving in Tanzania, the one room concrete arrivals area, with booths marked off for Zambians, permit holders, foreigners, and VIPs/Diplomats, and border guards stamping passports at a snails pace. Why rush? What else is there to do today, but stamp some more passports? The one baggage conveyer belt was fed by luggage handlers we could see through the doors, dropping bags one by one. People crowded the belt, removing bag after bag, barricading themselves in a fortress of packages and completely blocking the belt, leaving no room for others to get even near the rotating bags.

But somehow I managed to grab mine, get them onto my trolley, and walk neatly through customs, to the driver from CIDRZ (Center for Infectious Disease Research) holding a sign with my name. Nixon introduced himself, helped me to the white Toyota SUV, and with that, I had arrived in Lusaka. He drove me down well paved, clean, tree lined boulevards towards town. As I remembered from Tanzania, there were dozens of bicyclists zipping along the sides of the road, women wrapped in brightly colored fabrics, carrying baskets on their heads, school children running. He pointed out landmarks- a health clinic, the University of Zambia, the Manda Hill shopping center with Shop Rite supermarket, the Arcades shopping center closer to my home. He drove me to one of the CIDRZ offices to pick up my house keys and a Zambian cell phone. Like most houses and important offices in any African city, the office can almost be called a compound, hidden behind high concrete and electrified wire. We pulled up in the driveway, beeped once, and a guard came out to slide open the gate. The office was surprisingly nice, a large carpeted house, chock full of desks and computers, and people busy at work, both Zambians and ex-pats.

It was only a short drive to my home, the compound on Thabo Mbeki road, the Spanish cycle hacienda hidden behind walls and wire, guard at the gate. Some people at CIDRZ call it the McMansion. As the gate pulled aside and we drove into the driveway, I almost felt like those people on “Extreme Home Makeover” must feel when their new house is first revealed to them. This? This is my house? I’ve never lived in such a nice house in my entire life. I come all the way to Zambia to live in this house? As I walked in, I admired the stone and tiled floors, the 12 ft ceilings with molding, the kitchen complete with microwave, stove, oven, toaster and washing machine. And oh yeah, the pool, there’s a pool outside. Check it out:

The past few days have been a slow acclimation, to time zone, neighborhood, and people. Figuring out where we are on the map of this sprawling city. Figuring out where to get necessities, like milk, eggs and toilet paper. Where the buses run, how to catch a taxi. Rearranging our furniture, sorting out the kitchen. All of things we do when moving into any new house that really make it a home.

As for who is living here with me, numerous sources have decided that we should henceforth be referred to as “Real World Zambia.” There are nine of us in total, four at my house and five at the other. My roommates are Valerie, Liz and Sarah. Valerie is boisterous, spirited, talkative MPHer most recently from University of Alabama. She can talk up anybody and be best friends within a matter of minutes. It’s hard to be around her and not be happy. Liz is a family nurse practitioner from California who specializes in HIV treatment. She is friendly, outgoing and laughs a ton. When her and Valerie are in a room together, the energy level kicks up a notch. The other Sarah is a quiet but free spirited southerwesterner. There are five others, some of whom I met at the other house today. All in all, I’d say it’s an incredibly accomplished and totally fun group of people. I can’t wait to get to know them all.

So this is my world within the compound. Living in this isolated, protected place is this strange contrast to the world outside. Our first day after arriving, we stepped outside our gate, looked around and said, “Now we’re in Zambia.” We walked down yet another seemingly familiar African road. We passed trucks packed with men hanging off the sides and spewing black smoke, calling to us and waving as it passed. We passed bicycles, and men selling bags of nuts by the side of the road. Many of them greet us, perhaps out of wanting to sell us something, or curiosity, or maybe just friendliness

But after that bit of what Africa should be like, we hit the strip mall, which, if you squinted your eyes a bit, you might believe was in southern Florida. Large parking lots, palm trees, tile lined walkways and fountains, upscale stores and restaurants. This is the Lusaka of the mzungu and the Zambian aristocrats. But this is not the Lusaka of countless others. I am eager to begin my job on Monday, to work with real Zambians, to visit real clinics, to see what it really is that makes this country tick.

I’d best go to sleep, I have a date with my roommates in the morning to do the Billy Blanks exercise video. Getting exercise here will be quite different than at home. Running outside draws quite a bit of attention. And the gym that attracts mostly whites is actually more expensive than my gym back at home. But I discovered the ultimate frisbee games and will be certainly attending the next one.

One more day to settle in and relax before the real work begins.