My hiding from the joyous world of the network can quickly explain: I have not yet hopped on the internet in the office and Internet point internet cafe with my laptop connects to the betting that the Internet has it. Why? Because the USB Internet supplied by the local telephone company works with Windows but with Mac friend of Steve Jobs? Not really. It
things have happened this month and a half we took the whole staff (8 persons plus 3 night watchmen), we officially opened the project with the presence of political authorities and the staff of the Ministry Agriculture work with, I found a home, I was a few weekends in Lusaka, in the "movida" local (who reads and knows how Lusaka can imagine). In particular
March 6th I was invited to a birthday dinner for a Swedish-known, that it offered, the Swedish way (I put the dinner, you-invited - bring a drink), a party at a local outdoor Lusaka with Zimbabwean reggae band. The party was nice, but for lack of fun in Lusaka, he's talked about in the days following as if she were a party organized in the palace of Mike Tyson with the Strokes in concert for free. I went
to live in a new home, after a month I stayed with her Lucia. The house in question is actually a tropical garden with villone stand, not in line with previous home where I had lived in Zambia.
The reasons why I decided to live in a house like that (I'm a decent connection I attach the photo) are manifold: 1) after more than a month of searching, I had not found any other house. The housing crisis in Zambia is dramatic. Even my employees are almost camped in the homes of relatives and friends because they are free houses, 2) The price I have proposed is very good. I had an hour and a half, however, discuss with the owner of the Indo-Zambia, joining the phlegm African entrepreneurship in India. A mix very hard to overcome, 3) the area is very safe, as I near the local mosque [with a friendly wake up at 5 every morning for prayer] and the left side of the "lords' room, the powerful family that owns Mazabuka half, the town where I live, 4) I have so many rooms where you can entertain friends and relatives.
90% of the inhabitants of the street are Indo-Zambia, which gives me the impression of being surrounded by relatives in Springfield Aphu. Each of the neighbors has its own peculiarity: there is the hunter who runs with Beretta gun in the car - "Sometimes I go to shoot the dogs or people who try to steal the animals on my farm "-, is the fisherman who invites me to go to the lake with him," You do not like fish? No problem, I fish you relax "is the husband of aerobics and yoga teacher who says that I need to go to the gym by themselves, are the daughters of neighbors spying through the windows" are not married? Too bad! ", There are mothers who are spying on the windows" I immediately informed to know if our new neighbor was a nice guy. I have daughters who are unmarried. " "Ah, how old lady have?" "Fifteen." "Gasp, even for my standards are a bit 'young'" In India were already married, "and so on.
When I am not enjoying the shade of the coconut (very dangerous if you drop a walnut on his head is a risk of death), are at work. The office was also found that, in a compound near the parish. Curious that Lucy and I live near the church to the mosque. The renovations in full swing and as I write the builders are raising the wall. Every day we are assaulted by dozens of children to whom we have changed the course of the day. The other day, Andersson, one of the largest in the group, aged 8, told me that when he comes home from school can not wait to come play at the gate of "Muzungu" that of whites. Other
, Evans, Big Tom, Big John, are competing for who has to clean the leaves at the gate (good cheap labor, their content ...), or who manages to stay balanced on the hood of the car, or punishment if better (and loud!) our name: Marico and Lusia.
Then there is a child, which will take four years each time he sees us begin to sing: Blava, Blava, Blava, blavissimi. I found that in summer are of Italian volunteers to do a kind of Grest.
Start the day with a runt sporcaccioso that, running towards you screaming: Marico, Blava Blava Blava blavissimi!, Followed by a horde of barbarians to four feet using my body anything that uses sculptural vines like Tarzan in the jungle gives way to the office. I do not know me, but for sure the children!
