Death in Africa

One of the things we had to be "counseled" on when we came here was employee relations.  The relationship is nothing like what we're used to in the US, where you hire someone for a set amount for set duties for a set amount of time and negotiate the extras like vacation time, sick leave, etc.

It is sort of like that, but also very much not.  For instance, that employer/employee relationship we're used to?  It's more like adopting an extended family.  You don't employ someone as much as you invite them into your life.  This means that in addition to the agreed upon wage, we also provide money for certain medical necessities, paid time off for funerals, even contribute to the cost of family funerals!  We help with school fees, school clothing, and other items as needed as well.

The relationship is certainly not one sided - we are given ambassadors to a culture of which we are completely ignorant.  Our family/employees keep us from danger and keep us from being cheated (by anyone else,  it is taken as a matter of course that they get "extras" for being family.  This is not cheating, it is considered the same as a brother who comes to the house and drinks your beer).

The funeral issue rears its ugly head very often, and as uncomfortable as it is to speak about, we have to lay ground rules for that, as well.  Paid time off is only for the death of parents, children, siblings, and a spouse.  Although there are those who try to cheat the system - as there are in every culture - the fact of the matter is that death here is far more prevalent than what we have ever experienced at home.

There is one main cemetery, Malinga told us, and business is hopping.  I did not have the chance to take pictures the last time we drove by, but we went by again recently, and this time he slowed down so I could take some pictures from the road.  It would not have been good for me to actually get out and take pictures - it would have been disrespectful.

There were not so many funerals while we were there, which was a good thing.  I was less likely to be offensive with my voyeuristic snapping.

The hills of dirt after the graves of the cemetery surprised me.  I think most of them are left over from recent burials, but there were a few lower ones on which I saw flowers and other indications that they were fresh graves.   Perhaps not, perhaps they were just way-points for things to be stored.  But the idea is bothering me and I'm planning to ask the Zambian doctor we know when I see him again.

There was one funeral at the time we were there, and it was in the far back of the cemetery.

You can see that people show up in mini-busses and whatever other form of conveyance they can manage.  

 I was so struck by the differences in the graves.  There are large, fancy headstones, and even some monuments right next to simple wooden crosses.  In this last picture, you can see the label on one of the outlying hills of earth that made me wonder.

This is Africa.  I can't imagine one of our staid and manicured graveyards here.

On the same side trip I managed to catch a picture of one of our furniture stores:

Evil Blond Child informed me she preferred wicker furniture to solid wood, and so we will be getting several items from here, or a stand just like it.  These are handmade, by craftsmen from the compounds (which is what townships are called here).  You can look at them before buying, and many of them are of exceptional quality at very good prices.  In fact, what you can get at big box furniture stores here is ridiculously flimsy and overpriced, and so very not worth buying that it is a wonder people shop at them at all.

Best of all, buying furniture this way supports Zambians who are trying to earn their living independently.

We do have to bargain, though, but even with the Mzungu mark up I'll pay, it will still be less than what I would pay at Cost Plus stateside.

And finally, a shantytown:

Or, rather, a shantytown market.  Malinga said the people at these are desperately poor.  When I asked where they worked, he said, "Mostly they don't.  They live their entire lives right here."

He also told me that those train tracks are indeed still used for actual trains, but that the people at the market around them can feel the trains before they come and they pick up and move.  He did say that sometimes drunks fall asleep on the tracks and are killed when they don't rouse in time for the express - or whichever train it is that runs through.   He said it in a very matter-of-fact tone, and was quite judgmental of the stupidity of doing such a thing and the just desserts of one killed in such a manner.

It is so very different here...