The creek which is dry now still still has some standing water in one puddle of an area, the area we just so happen to walk by many times a day. There is a log to walk across when the water is full and/or running. I'm not sure if it runs but I will soon find out. The log has been pushed aside and you can walk through the dip in the earth from one side to the other on hard, dry dirt. There is still a large puddle or smal pond a foot or two deep bordering the walking dip path. As it may be a stream, there is a step on each side of the dip to go down and then back up when walking. I ride my bike my bike everywhere and have become accustomed to getting off my bike and carrying it on the log and then resuming riding. The same held true when the log was pushed aside, as the steps into and out of the dry creek bed were a bit much for a casual stroll. I did however venture oned day through the bed without getting off the bike, feeling a bit tired to wheip my leg over the rear of the bike to get off. With a bit of a thud ont he way down and a little peel of the tire on dirt on the way up, I made it through without much fuss. That of course was the easy direction of travel, as the lip into the stream on the way down was sharp, but on a bike is just a thump. The lip on the way up is more gradual and therefore not much of a feat for a mountain biker. So, again, feeling lazy or moreso efficient, I thought I'd try to conquer the feat going in the other direction. I was riding back from teaching in Rfunsa, so that meant I had my teaching clothes on, whcih is surprisingly more casual than my Zambian counterparts, a polo, and dress slacks, and dress shoes. I had my book bag nicely placed in a basket I attached to the back of my bike rack, a little contraption I am quite proud to have made as now I don't have to wear the bag and show up to class with a sweaty back and bag. So, I hit the down slope with no problem, but knew I was gonna need some good momentum and a good lift on the handle bars to get up the other side. I did not get what I needed, but hey, no big deal, step off to the left, grab the bike, and walk up the lip. Not quite. I somehow did not process the the whole shift the weight to the left thing in time and ended up witha weight shift to the right, only to the right sat the pond. The step to the right was not at the ground level as the step to the left was, so I didn't get the luxury of stepping into the water and then out saying "darn, my shoe is wet." No, we are talking full body submersion. The mud in my pants and shirt was so bad that my Zambian family had to help me wash them as my hand washing abilities have not improved over time. My house is a few hundred meters from this puddleso I was still dripping mud and water when I arrived. All the kids were relaxing and I was glad to see a smile appear rather than a look of concern when I walked up to them because this all deserved a genuine stomach intitiated laugh. And that we did. Only the older ones understood my english, as I have not learned the Chinyanja words for crashing a bike into a pond yet, but the younger ones were able to comprehend with all the body language. The moral of the story however goes much deeper than pond. My sister, Colleen, sent me a text the next day to tell me there was a big storm and that she and her kids went puddle jumping after it passed. It wasn't till a few days later it dawned on me that we were all puddle jumping on the same day. Let me mind you there is only one puddle in Zambia that I know of. Ironic? Maybe something more?
One picture is of a future co-teacher in his hotel room at a co-teaching workshop. He asked me to take a picture of him in his room as he has never stayed in a hotel nonetheless a room with electricity, so in we went, off his shoes came, and on to the bed he jumped. I thought the pose was worthy of a posting. The other picture is of us upon completion of the work shop. We will be teaching Grade 8 and 9 maths (they say maths here) together starting in January at Chimusanya Basic.
