Chikwati (marriage)

The weekend before last, I had the amazing opportunity to witness the chikwati (marriage) of two Rwandans who are now resettled in Rock Island, Illinois, about 2 hours from where I live. The language of Rwanda is Kinyarwanda, not Nyanja, but the groom speaks Nyanja after spending years in Zambia and working as a translator. I knew him in 2005, the first time I worked in a refugee camp.

My daughter, Nzinzi, who just turned 3 (tatu), came along, too. Because of the long car ride and possibly long church service which I knew Nzinzi probably would need some distractions. (She's a free spirit and doesn't like being confined to one seat for more than a few minutes.) I tried to pack some books, toys, and treats to keep her attention. One book that I brought had been a Christmas present to Nzinzi from my grandmother that we had never even looked at yet, but had stored away for just such an occasion. I saw that the book was by an author we like, but hadn't read that particular title yet, and packed it in our bag.

The church service was conducted by an American minister. It was quite reverent and adherent to the young couple's Christian faith. It also contained African elements, my favorite being the loud hooting and hollering of the congregants at key moments, like when the bride walked down the aisle, and the couple's first married kiss.

Thanks to Jim Gaylor for all of the wonderful wedding photos!

The reception was very African and very fun. (And I'm so glad it was in Kinyarwanda and not English! That said, we appreciated the fact that they did translate most of what was said.) There was beautiful Rwandan traditional dancing by young women, in traditional attire, and more dancing (to rhumba music!) by younger boys, in black suits with white shirts.

 There was delicious African food: beef, chicken, goat, greens, fried bananas, and rice. (Hey, we're mostly vegetarian, but we do make some exceptions!)

Nzinzi was happy that there were lots of children, and my heart was warmed seeing all of the babies on their mother's backs.

"Papa" means "carry (a baby) on your back."

 I even got to speak my broken Nyanja with a number people who had lived in Lusaka as part of their journey.

I spoke at length with some Rwandan boys who were born in Zambia to refugee parents. They started going to school in Zambia, but now they are going to school in Illinois. We talked about the transition from Zambia to America:

"Our Grandma wanted to go to the mall, but she was afraid of the escalators."

Later in the conversation:

"Are there a lot of Africans in your school?"
"Yes."
"Oh, that's good that you're not alone, but do you also hang out with the Americans?"
"Yes, we all mix together."

And that made me happy.

I thought about how wonderful it is that all of these people got to be resettled together, where they can keep their traditions (food, language, dance) while trying to assimilate to American life. It made me want to connect with more Africans in our area (or live in an area with more Africans) so that Nzinzi can have more chances to be involved in a community like that.

I thought about how far a lot of my refugee friends have come since 2005. Many of them have returned home and reunited with their families after 10 years or more. Many have received degrees. Some have big, important jobs. Others are in Europe and America. And some are still in refugee camps, living day to day life, or hoping for a better future. Many of them have gone through hardships others of us would never understand and won't mention here, but have survived (unlike some of their friends and family members) and are carrying on.

Nzinzi and I stayed in a motel after the wedding. Before bedtime, we finally opened that book in our bag, the one that had been on a hidden shelf since December. It was My Name is Sangoel by Karen Lynn Williams and Khadra Mohammed, illustrated by Catherine Stock.

(www.karenlynnwilliams.com)

I started to read:

"Don't worry," the Wise One said as Sangoel prepared to leave the refugee camp. "You carry a Dinka name. It is the name of your father and of the ancestors before him."

(What?!?!?!? The book was about refugees!)

As I read on, Sangoel, a Sudanese boy, with his mother and his sister leave, an African refugee camp to be resettled in America. They have a number of challenges adjusting, and no one can pronounce Sangoel's name right, and Sangoel gets frustrated. But don't worry - the book has a happy ending. Please get a copy or borrow one from a library to find out the whole story.

As I read the story, tears streamed down my face. I was just moved by the hardship, the survival, the resilience, and the serendipitous fact that the first time we read this book was right after the Rwandan wedding.

It was a great wedding. Congratulations to Jean Baptiste and Regine! Here's to many years of happiness!

And, My Name is Sangoel is a great book. I want to give it to all of my resettled African friends, even
though most of them are adults. (So, I guess I'll start saving for that.) (Barnes and Noble, $13, shoot me an email or Facebook message if you'd like to sponsor some books!)

Vocabulary:
chikwati (pr: chee-KWAH-tee) = marriage
tatu (pr: TAH-too) = three
papa (pr: PAH-pah) = carry (a baby) on your back

Phrases to Practice (Zikomo for help from contributors Alinedi Daka, Margaret Chisanga, Mutale Bingley, and Robert Chembe Phiri!)
Nili mu chikwati = I am married.
Nifuna chikwati. = I want to be married.
Sinifuna chikwati. = I don't want to be married.
Tilyenji Banda bana mupeleka ku chikwati mu mwezi wa October chaka chapita." =  "Tilyenji Banda was married in October of last year. 
Eeh-eeh, bana bwinga, baoneka bwino! = Wow, bride, you are looking good!
Dayinesi Phiri alimuchikwati chabwino na amanager akuShoprite. = Dayinesi Phiri is in a good marriage with a manager from Shoprite.
"Chikwati sindalama/ chikwati ni chikondi" = "Marriage isn't money/ Marriage is love." (From Mathew Tembo's song "Chikwati Sindalama")

P.S. I would also like to add that I got to meet up with some great bazungu at the wedding, too. Was awesome to see Audrey, Nick, and Jim, and to meet Holly (beautiful name, I thought!). Here we are at Whitey's after eating some post-chikwati ice cream. (Hmm, we could open up a "Whitey's" in Zambia and call it "Muzungu's")

Mwezi (month)

Did you know that Zambia actually trained astronauts to go to the moon? True or false - you decide. See the link below:

Zambia to Send Astronauts to the Mwezi

And before we dive into our Nyanja Word of the "Week" about Mwezi/Moon, let's talk about English for a moment.

English-speakers, did you know that there are 2 meanings for bi-monthly. It can either mean twice per month, or every other month. My weekly blog seems to have become a bi-monthly blog, sometimes using the first definition, and sometimes the second!

Perhaps a better title for the blog would be: "Nyanja Word of the Mwezi." Mwezi (pronounced "MWAY-zee") means "month." But, like "bi-monthly" and so many other words we know, mwezi also has multiple meanings. The other meaning for "mwezi" is "moon," and can even mean "full moon," depending on the context.

Here are some examples of how to use "mwezi" in a sentence, thanks to Nyanja Word of the Week advisors, Patricia Graham, Mwela Namonje Hapunda, and Esther Ngulube.

Mwezi watha ndinalandila alendo ochoka ku America! = Last month I received visitors from America!

Nifuna kugula motoka ino mwezi. = I want to buy a car this month.

Nibwela ku nyumba pa 10 mwezi ukuza. = I will be coming home on the 10th of next month.

 Lelo kuli mwezi. = Today there is a full moon.

See you next "week"! ;-) ;-)

Dear NWW readers,

It has been many weeks since our last Nyanja discussion. These past few months have been very busy for my family, and I had a little bit of writer’s block. This caused the Nyanja Words of the Week to fall into a little slump. And in one of my daughter’s favorite quotes from Dr. Seuss, “unslumping yourself is not easily done.” (Native Nyanja-speakers, can any of you translate that? Or perhaps there is an equivalent African proverb that uses an animal metaphor?)

Today I’ve found myself semi-inspired, with a few minutes to myself, in front of a computer, so I shall take this opportunity to try to crank one out. Here it goes:

Sogolo (front/future) and Kumbuyo (back/behind/past)

One of the rites of passage of a muzungu (foreigner) in Zambia is riding a minibus. As a beginner minibus rider, it can feel quite adventurous: squeezing in a small space with a bunch of strangers; getting a new perspective of the city while trying to make sure you get off at the right stop, trying to keep your balance as the driver swerves through traffic, or perhaps speeds down side roads, zigging and zagging to perhaps avoid the police. Even for seasoned minibus riders, the experience can be enjoyable. For others, it may just seem tedious, or perhaps it has just become a way of life.

No matter what your level of mini bus experience, if you don’t speak Bemba or Nyanja and  are not accompanied by a local friend, your voyage will be a little easier if you know a few key words and phrases. Today we will just deal with  2 of these words: sogolo (front) and kumbuyo (back).

One reason why I’ve chosen to talk about these words is because of their many meanings and uses, but let’s start with the minibus meanings.

“Sogolo” means “front,” as in the front seat of the bus, next to the driver. If you find yourself sitting in the front of the bus, the “conductor” is most likely sitting right behind you. If you hear him say “sogolo,” it means he’s asking you, (and the other front-seat passenger, if there is one) for your fare, so, you should give him the money.

“Kumbuyo” means “back,” as in the back seat of the bus. Scenario: you are getting onto one of the larger minibuses, and there are already 4 people sitting in the back and all of the other seats are taken, except for the flip-down aisle seats. You start to flip down the aisle seat to sit in the second-to-last row, then you hear the conductor saying something to you in Nyanja. He is likely saying “five kumbuyo,” or some variation of that, meaning “Please would you kindly squeeze in with those other 4 people in the back row so that we can fit more people on our bus. We’re just trying to make a meager living here.” Again, once the bus is rolling, if the conductor says “kumbuyo,” it means he’s asking for the money from your row, often lumped together and passed up to the front by the people in the middle rows.

 Beyond the minibus-practical-uses of sogolo and kumbuyo, the words also mean “future” and “past.” I once had a minibus conductor tell me, “Sit in future.” (Wouldn’t that be cool!)

Here are some other ways to use those words (Thanks to Uncle Jossy Phiri, Joe Chilima, and Violet Phiri for the CREATIVE examples via Facebook):

Kusogolo: “In the future”

Sitiziba vili kusogolo: “We don't know what the future holds.”

Kaya, kusogolo: “Perhaps in the future.”

Joe ali pasogolo: “Joe is in the lead.” (as in a race)

Holly ali kumbuyo ya nyumba koma Amai ali kusogolo: “Holly is behind the house, but Mom is in front.”

Akumbuyo: “In the past” or “Long ago”

Masiku akumbuyo  anthu anali kupha ana obadwa ndi mano mukamwa: “Long ago people slew babies born with teeth.”

Pambuyo pake, anamukwatila: “After that, he married her.”


(Most minibus rides don't look like this.)

Double Your Nyanja! Muzungu (white person/foreigner) AND Njinga (bicycle)

Foreigners in Zambia, even if you don't learn "Muli Bwanji? / Bwino" ("How are you? / Good"), you will know this word:

muzungu.

This word means YOU. Many of us believe that muzungu means "white person," with Asians often grouped together in there, too, but some Zambians will insist that muzungu simply means "foreigner." But you'll also hear light skinned "bantu" Zambians being called "muzungu," as well as white Zambians. A black Zambian can even be called "muzungu" for dressing or talking like a "foreigner." So, perhaps we can just allow the definition of muzungu to be vague.

Now, muzungus, please heed my advice: you must learn more words in Nyanja than just "bwino" and "muzungu"! Here's a little story about why...

Before I knew the 100 or so nyanja words that I know now, (I better start learning more, or I will run out of blog posts!), I used to think, every time I heard the word muzungu in my presence, that the Zambians around me were speaking negatively about me. I would get paranoid. Sometimes I would get so exasperated with people "talking about me" and talking TO me, that I would retaliate. ("Why are you talking to me? Is it because I'm white?") And, the frustration of hearing "muzungu" spoken in my presence, but not TO me, inspired me to learn one of my favorite, though not-entirely-true, Nyanja phrases, "Nimvela chinyanja," meaning, "I understand Nyanja."

Here's a word for you, to learn, which helped take the sting out of "muzungu" for me, "njinga." It means "bicycle."

(Here's another picture of some muzungus on njinjas, in Meheba Refugee Settlement featuring muzungus: me and Cody, with bantus: Olila, Kwase, and some other great friends, I'm sorry, your names are not coming to me right now. Give me a break - this is from 2006!)

Last blog post I showed some pictures of different kinds of katundu that people carry using njingas in Zambia.

If you really want to have a good bicycle experience in Zambia, look no further than Chipata. Located in the Eastern Province of Zambia, near the border of Malawi, Chipata is like the Amsterdam of Zambia, in terms of bicycles. There are bikes everywhere! Those Chipatans must have very strong leg muscles, because it is also quite hilly, mountainous, even.

Photos courtesy of Jeana Hickling:

One nice thing to do in Chipata, is to take advantage of the njinga taxis. For less than a dollar, you can sit on the nice padded carrier on the back of an nginga and have the driver pedal you to your destination. (This photo courtesy of our friend Reinier van Oorsouw, though I found it in a Google search!) Notice the nice, comfy, padded carrier...

During one trip there with my sister Jeana, we rented a couple of personal njingas. While taking a little ride, I heard someone by the road say, "Muzungu achova njinga."

Now, if I would have only known the word muzungu, I would have heard this: "Muzungu blah-blah-blah blah-blah-blah, and would have assumed that the guy was making fun of me, and might have even gotten mad. But, instead, I understood that all he was saying was, "The foreigner is riding a bike," which makes perfect sense! I WAS a foreigner in Chipata, and I WAS riding a bike. (Also, please note, it is not uncommon in Zambia to hear people state the obvious. For instance: I'm washing my clothes. My housemate walks up to me and says, "You're washing your clothes?" Hey, that's one way to make conversation.)

The moral of the story is, when you hear the word "muzungu," the person speaking COULD be saying something harmless. Heck, they could even be saying something NICE. And then again, they COULD actually be making fun of you. The only way to know is to learn Nyanja... or just ask what they said.

**********


Jeana achova njinga ku Chipata...

**************

As a side note, you may have issue with being called muzungu, simply because you don't think it is nice to be singled out because of race or ethnicity. Here's another great reason to learn Nyanja, or other local languages. It can empower you to express these feelings! Some dear friends of mine, John and Jolie, became fluent in Bemba (the OTHER main Zambian language to learn) and Swahili when they were working in a refugee camp. (By the way, I found this AWESOME while simultaneously being mad and jealous because I wasn't and am still not fluent in any Zambian language. .... Confessions!) The kids in the communities we worked with would chase us saying "muzungu!" over and over again. I remember John explaining to the children, in a language they could understand, that they should call him "John" or "friend" and not "muzungu."

**********************

I came across this list of bike-friendly cities. We're very proud that Cape Town is there representing Africa, but would love to see Chipata on the next list!

http://matadornetwork.com/trips/the-worlds-15-most-bike-friendly-cities/

****************************

Here's an article about Chipata, complete with a slideshow of njinga pictures!

http://www.streetnewsservice.org/news/2011/march/feed-271/the-death-of-zambia%E2%80%99s-iron-horse.aspx

****************************

Vocabulary:

muzungu (moo-ZOOn-goo)- foreigner, white person. Slang: light-skinned African person, or African who "acts" white.

bantu (BAHN-too) - in Nyanja, "people." Also describes a general group of language/ethnicity that spans across Sub-Saharan Africa, differentiates "black" Africans from Africans of Asian/White/Arab/etc descent.

Nimvela chinyanja (neem-VAY-lah cheen-YUN-jah) - I understand Nyanja.

katundu (kah-TOON-doo) - luggage

njinga (n-JEENG-ah) - bicycle

kuchova (k00-CHOH-vah)- to ride (a bike)

Muzungu achova njinga (moo-ZOON-goo ah-CHOH-vah n-JEENG-ah) - The foreigner is riding a bike.

Muli bwanji? (MOO-lee BWAHN-jee)- how are you?

Bwino (BWEE-no) - good

Katundu (luggage)

Eight months ago, my husband, daughter, and I boarded an airplane with one-way tickets to America. We moved. And the only katundu (luggage) that we brought with us was the normal airplane baggage allowance plus one suitcase. We had sold our car, sold Mathew's home recording studio, and sold and given away lots of furniture, clothes, and books, only packing up a few boxes of things to put in storage, at my grandfather-in-law's place, for when we eventually go back. It sure felt freeing to downsize our life!

And what do you know, the first day back in America, where did we go? Garage sales! Welcome to the USA, land of lots of easily accessible cheap junk! (Or treasure, depending how you look at it.) We actually did enjoy browsing through the salaula (second hand items), and realizing that we can get some things here easily that were harder to obtain in Lusaka. But it put up a red flag in my mind: Now that we've just downsized our worldly belongings, lets try not to re-stock on things we don't necessarily need.

A few months later, we moved from my mother's house in Pittsburgh, and all the family support that went along with it, to DeKalb, Illinois, a rural University town where we didn't know anyone. Coming from Lusaka, a busy city with very accessible public transportation, we did not foresee the need of having a car before coming here. Luckily, we found an apartment near the university and a bus line going to a shopping area. (Although there is literally NO public transport OUTSIDE of this town, apart from 2 five hour windows per week.)

Needless to say, we had to get creative, African-creative at times, to get some things done.


Bicycles in the US are often used for recreational purposes, but Mathew, with his $5 salaula bike from that first day in America, and me with my family-hand-me-down bike, and Nzinzi with her bike-seat, have been using them for utilitarian purposes.

One of the things that always fascinated me about Zambia was the incredible things people could carry on bicycles, for instance: a large adult-sized live pig; or a 4 meter high stack of bags of charcoal; or the entire family (one kid in front of peddling Dad, mom behind, sitting on the carrier, with a baby tied to her back).


Here are some examples of the katundu that people carry on bicycles in Zambia, courtesy of ace photographer, Ian Hanover:

My Illinois-katundu never got that extensive, but I have definitely mastered the art of carrying myself, Nzinzi, and 10 shopping bags on my bike. Talk about a leg workout!

Here we are this summer, BEFORE going to the store:

(How spoiled Nzinzi is with her fancy American bike-seat and helmet!)

When I haven't feel like pedalling, we have also carried our grocery store katundu on buses, getting it from the bus stop to the house by hanging bags on the baby stroller and using Nzinzi as a counter-weight. (What a helpful girl!)

When you have a car, you don't think about katundu that much. If you have something bulky to take from point A to point B, you just put it in the car and go. A lot of Zambians have cars, but MOST Zambians don't, so katundu is something you see a lot. Ever ridden a minibus? People get on their with multiple big baskets, boxes, bags, and depending on the area, even animals. I have used this form of public transportation in Zambia for years, and it still hasn't lost its charm. Especially on long-distance buses, katundu can fill up more of the bus than people do, overhead, on laps, under the bus, in the aisles! (With driver, conductor and passengers, crossing their fingers that the bus doesn't get stopped by police.)

Nzinzi has a great children's book called "Tap-Tap" which documents the excitement of getting everyone and their luggage onto a small truck for the commute home from a day at the market. Although set in Haiti, it mirrors our minibus experiences in Zambia. (For more information on the book, click here.)

For those of you with cars, enjoy the blessing! And hopefully we will be joining your ranks soon. For those of you without cars, who have to creatively carry your katundu, God bless you. And enjoy the good company (if you're in Africa), or the funny looks you may get (if you're in DeKalb, Illinois)! And don't forget, you're getting your exercise!

As an end-note, in my research for this post, I have been informed that there is an alternate meaning for katundu, which I prefer not to discuss on my family-friendly blog. Please ask a Zambian friend about this innuendo. :-)

Vocabulary:
katundu (pr. kah-TOON-doo) = luggage

salaula (pr. sah-lah-OO-lah) = second hand goods (usually clothes)

Chikondi (love)

"Chikwati sindalama; chikwati ni chikondi." *

(Marriage is not money; marriage is love.)

-Mathew Tembo


Valentines Day is upon us. I'm not usually a promoter of commercialized holidays, but I do like an excuse to celebrate love. Sure, romance can be nice, but you can also use the special occasion to show your friends that you love them, too! You don't necessarily need to go out and spend money on something valentiney. You could make something, bake something, knit something, write a poem or a song, choreograph a Valentine's dance, make home-made valentine's cards, anything to show your loved ones that you love them!

Here are some of the Valentines that Nzinzi and I made:

If you're not into the romantic love or the brotherly love, you can always celebrate football love, because the Zambian Chipolopolo boys are the Champions of the Africa Cup of Nations!

These football champions are giving some love to their new Valentine:

(article here: http://www.flavafm.co.zm/):

Here are some loving Nyanja words to get you through the day:

Kukonda (pr. "koo-KOHN-dah) = to love

Chikondi (pr. "chee-KOHN-dee") = love

Nikukonda (pr. "nee-koo-KOHN-dah") = I love you.

Nikukonda maningi (pr. "nee-koo-KOHN-dah mah-NEEN-ghee") = I love you a lot.

Nikonda Chipolopolo = I love the Zambian National Soccer Team! (Literally, "I love the bullet.")

Nikonda ______ = I love ______ (You can fill in the blank for yourself!)

*(Buy Mathew Tembo's "Chikwati Sindalama" here.)

And lastly, here's a great Zambian song about loving someone for who they are, not for what they have! (Some Zambian men love this idea, because they think Zambian women just want expensive gifts! Ladies, is this true? Nalu says no.) And it's in English!

Chipolopolo (bullet)

This weekend, the world witnessed another historic sporting event. Millions of fans followed as one team battled it out against another, trying to get the ball to the opposite side of the field. Finally, the winner emerged victorious and the losers returned home empty handed.

The sport I am talking about is football, of course! And the game I am talking about is, of course, the Africa Cup quarter final match between Zambia and Sudan. Yes, "football," known popularly in the United States as "soccer." You might note that a lesser known game, called "American football" also had a big match this weekend, the "Super Bowl."

During a breathtaking 90 minutes, Zambia managed to score, not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES against Sudan. Take that, Sudan! (Now, if it were Southern Sudan, I'd be a little more gentle.)

The nickname of the Zambian National Football (Soccer) Team is "Chipolopolo." Here's how to pronounce it: "chee-POH-lo-POH-lo." Here's another way to say it, if you're excitedly cheering: "CHEEP-oh-LO-poh-LO!"

Chipolopolo means "bullet." Yes, this is what we Zambians use to kill the other team! Metaphorically speaking, of course. The Zambian National Team are also sometimes called "The Copper Bullets." (Can anyone tell me how to say "copper" in Nyanja?) Copper mining and export is one of the biggest industries in Zambia. Here's an idea: who wants to start a copper refining and manufacturing business IN ZAMBIA? Why are we exporting raw material when we could be making more money off of the finished product? Not to mention creating jobs. Hm?

Back to football. After the Chipolopolo boys pierced the heart of the Sudanese team, the Copper Bullets are on to the next big target, and its a formidible one: Ghana. Remember... Ghana has played in the World Cup. The Ghana National Football team BEAT the USA National Soccer Team in the 2010 World Cup. (Okay, beating America in soccer doesn't say much, but still!)

Zambia is going to need to play a very good game to beat Ghana today (or tomorrow, February 8, depends what time zone you're in.) So please, wear your green, copper, black, and red, or should you so choose to join me, dress like the coach: crisp white button down shirt with jeans. Check what time Zambia is playing on your local or internet listings and watch the game. It is sure to be good! And if they win, they get to play in the final match! (Americans, this would be the "Super Bowl" of the Africa Cup. And sorry, no Madonna being pulled across the field by dozens of muscley men stepping in time.)

Vocabulary:
chipolopolo = bullet
bola (pr "BOW-lah") = football/soccer
ochaya bola (pr "oh-CHAI-ah BOW-la) = football player
Zambia iza wina (pr Zambia "EE-zah WEE-nah") = Zambia is going to win!

And in closing, here's a song to get us pumped up, by one of my favorite Zambian artists, Mozegator: