{"id":6,"date":"2013-10-04T11:03:10","date_gmt":"2013-10-04T11:03:10","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/?p=6"},"modified":"2013-11-26T04:49:52","modified_gmt":"2013-11-26T04:49:52","slug":"the-garden","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/2013\/10\/04\/the-garden\/","title":{"rendered":"The Garden"},"content":{"rendered":"

The sound of barking dogs and crying roosters prompted me to reluctantly crawl from my warm sleeping bag and step onto the cold concrete floor in my bare feet. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes and shivering, I opened my curtains and saw that the sun seemed even more loath to rise than I did. I thought Afirica was supposed to be hot!<\/i> I said to myself. But then again, I thought Africa was many things before getting here<\/i>. Prior to leaving my room for breakfast, I crossed another day off my calendar, noting that we were now four and a half weeks into our adventure in Zambia. In those four and a half weeks, I had seen my idealistic picture of working in Africa crumble into a barely recognizable reality, tainted by the difficulties of trying to be productive in a place where productivity was as rare as my white skin. Inspiration had turned to cynicism and I was beginning to wonder if we would even make any sort of difference at all.<\/p>\n

\"A<\/a>

A reticent sun<\/p><\/div>\n

Months of preparation, studying, drawing up itineraries, and constructing seemingly flawless plans had not prepared us for what we would encounter, or for that matter, not encounter, once we reached Zambia. Right from the start, we ran into systemic issues with the under resourced and bureaucratic Ministry of Education. Once we began researching, the language barrier quickly became a stumbling block, reducing the number of people we could talk to. The terrain and the dirt roads, not to mention the distance between centers and the small Chikuni Mission where we were staying, limited our mobility. Yet even though I did not foresee these specific issues, I was at least prepared to have some logistical difficulties.<\/p>\n

What I was not prepared for, and what truly eroded my original image down to reality, was how interconnected and seemingly inescapable the issues of poverty are. There is no silver bullet for ending global poverty, and no silver bullet for poverty in Zambia. In fact, even just one person cannot be lifted out of poverty with a single solution. Witnessing some of the world\u2019s poorest people had created within me both an intense desire to do something, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness in the face of such a complex issue. Today was a day on the hopelessness side of things.<\/p>\n

I sat staring at the bottom of my mug, savoring in the taste of my morning tea, and waiting for my mentor, Boniface, to arrive. I wondered what this day would bring, largely expecting to discover another facet of poverty that would further complicate whatever solution was out there as well as deepen my sense of helplessness. As it would turn out, I was only half right.<\/p>\n

\u201cMwabugabuti Jahk<\/i>!\u201d Boniface greeted me as he pulled up on his motorcycle, flashing his ear-to-ear grin. \u201cKabotu, mwabuga\u201d I struggled to say in response. \u201cKabotu!\u201d he said with a laugh, \u201cToday, I propose we have an adventure!\u201d And with that, I pulled on my helmet, clambered onto the back of his motorbike and held on tight as we set off down the road. By the time we made our first stop, we had nearly hit several chickens, my entire body was sore, and I had gotten my fair share of looks from the villagers who must have been wondering what this \u2018Mazungu\u2019 was doing hanging on for dear life on the back of the motorbike in the middle of Zambia.<\/p>\n

\"My<\/a>

My guide and mentor Mr. Boniface Hangala<\/p><\/div>\n

We had come to an area known as Nakabwe, a hilly region served by the Chikuni Parish. Boniface pulled over on the side of the road and beckoned me over. His wide grin had been replaced with a solemn look. We looked out over a hillside that had recently had about an acre of trees cleared from its slopes, all of which now littered the ground, grey and dying, marking the land like a scar. \u201cIt\u2019s just… so painful\u201d Boniface said. As we gazed out over the scene, he talked of a time when the hills of Nakabwe were covered in trees and dense thickets and growths characterized the forests. He told me that the only roads had been small trails that wound through the hilly landscape from village to village. The forests once harbored many wild animals and the people spent their time collecting mushrooms and tubers to sell. I had been under the impression that this time was long gone, and was amazed to learn that it had only been five years since the forests had been there.<\/p>\n

Boniface sighed and kicked a nearby stump. \u201cThis tree was 100 years old,\u201d he said \u201cnow, gone. Gone for charcoal.\u201d The stump was the butchered remains of a Mu\u2019umba tree, normally a beautiful hardwood tree with a spreading canopy. Stumps like these scattered the landscape in every direction.<\/p>\n

\"A<\/a>

A freshly cut tree waiting to be turned to charcoal<\/p><\/div>\n

While in Lusaka, we had visited one of the poorest compounds in the city, Ngombe, and seen some of the worst levels of poverty imaginable. One distinct image I had was of a group of children playing on a huge mound of charcoal. That same charcoal would later be sold to their parents at an inflated price and used for cooking and heating in the family\u2019s small brassiere. While burning, it would spew carbon monoxide and other toxic fumes into the household, which would eventually find their way to the lungs of the children who were now playing on it.<\/p>\n

\"Children<\/a>

Children playing with charcoal in Nakabwe<\/p><\/div>\n

As if that wasn\u2019t a powerful enough image, here I was staring at the remains of one of the trees that had been turned into a briquette that literally meant both life and death, to the people of Zambia. Eventually, we hopped back on the bike and travelled a bit further before coming to a valley where a family was sitting around a smoldering, heap of dirt. Boniface introduced me to the father who was in the process of producing charcoal. Like their urban counterparts, and in an odd but poetic sort of full circle symmetry, the children of the family were playing with charcoal, only stopping to stare with gaping mouths at my strangeness. With Boniface translating, the man and I talked, and I began to understand not only another dimension of poverty but also how it is so inextricably linked with the environment.<\/p>\n

The lack of electricity in urban areas coupled with rapid urbanization has fueled the demand for charcoal, thus driving up the cost. Therefore, people in urban areas, such as this family, have transitioned away from agriculture to charcoal production. In some cases, Charcoal is nearly twice as lucrative as standard agriculture and has become a major part of the rural economy in Zambia. The evidence is two-fold, an increasingly sparse landscape, and thousands of scorched parcels of land, turned black and poisoned by the charcoal making process.<\/p>\n

\u201cI cannot be angry with them,\u201d Boniface said after we left, \u201cthey just don\u2019t know what else to do.\u201d It is true. The concept of long-term environmental degradation is hard to grasp when you need money to feed your family. Yet for every tree that is cut down, the land loses more fertile soil, temperature swings get more volatile, and the winds grow faster, spreading fires and damaging buildings. It is painful not only because of the level of destruction, as illustrated by the ability of one man to clear an entire hillside, but also because of the difficulties that these people will have to face in the future if deforestation continues at such a rate. Indeed, my teacup contemplations seemed to be coming to fruition, another dynamic of poverty had been revealed and I was beginning to feel even more hopeless.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

I spent the next leg of the journey with my thoughts. The further we rode, the more desolate the landscape looked. Black spots dotted the land and everywhere I looked I saw another stump. I began to think of what this place would become. Once the full effects of widespread deforestation set in, the soils would be washed away and frosts would kill whatever crops people could still manage to grow. The beautiful landscape would become barren and dry with flash floods occurring every rainy season and fires sweeping the land when it was dry.<\/p>\n

To say the least, I was feeling even more helpless. But as I said, I was only half right about what I would discover that day. We finally reached the school building in Nakabwe. We parked the bike and greeted the children who were in class. Boniface then led me out of the classroom and down a long path down the hillside. We were headed to the school\u2019s agroforestry garden, one of the many that Boniface had been designing and building at each of the 17 schools served by the Chikuni Parish. The idea was to teach the students to grow crops in an environmentally friendly way. This would increase their nutrition as well as their incomes and offer a viable alternative to the charcoal paradigm. I had seen several of these gardens before, but most had been in poor condition or were not very far along in their construction.<\/p>\n

As we walked, Boniface described the many difficulties of building a garden in the hills. Rocky soil, deeper groundwater, and the slope of the land were all serious impediments. I listened and expected the worst as we continued along. Before long, we came to a line of trees. \u201cGliricidia sepium<\/i>\u201d Boniface said casually. He never ceased to impress me with his botanical genius. He stepped into the trees and over a small fence of piled logs. I followed suit, keeping my eyes down so as not to trip.<\/p>\n

The world we emerged into was so different that I began to wonder if the darn Gliricidia trees had some hallucinogenic aroma to them. What lay before me was a lush garden, bursting with every shade of green imaginable. The borehole pump was a few feet away; water dripping from its spout into a puddle above which giant white bumble bees buzzed lazily. Rows of trees and plants were laid out, creating pillars and hallways within the garden. I stood in speckled sunlight under the canopy of a fully-grown Jatropha plant, looking at the wonder before me.<\/p>\n

\"Eden\"<\/a>

Eden<\/p><\/div>\n

A second ago, I had been in a dry, deforested landscape. But here, there was life<\/i>! I had come to some sort of African Eden. Boniface gave me a tour, showing me the different features of the garden, all which contributed to the health of the other plants, but also to the health of the children in the community and their families. Multipurpose plants like Gliricidia were good fertilizer trees and animal fodder, but also could be used as a source of firewood that would regenerate quickly even when cut to a stump. Jatropha trees, which served as a formidable living fence to protect the garden from wandering cattle and pigs also provided seeds, which could be turned into oil and biofuel. And of course, Moringa. Oh what a wonderfully nutritious and useful plant Moringa is. Just wait until Whole Foods gets wind of this plant… you\u2019d better watch out kale. Growning happily in the conditions of the garden were traditional vegetables and fruits of every kind. What a heavenly place.<\/p>\n

I sat there listening to Boniface, and observing this secret garden that we had come to. I was so bemused that I forgot to take any good photos, but then again, they would not do it justice. Boniface left me to do some routine checkups and I took a seat under a tree and began to ponder the splendor of the place. Here I was, in the heart of one of the world\u2019s poorest countries, witnessing a beautiful display of perseverance and most importantly, success. This garden was, in essence, a thriving monument to the possibilities that exist for the people of rural Zambia. I began to realize the importance of educating these people about the benefits of these gardens, the reason Boniface gets out of bed everyday. The wide-ranging benefits of agroforestry extend beyond nutrition into economics and environmental protection. Educating people about such a robust and sturdy alternative to the destructive practice of charcoal production is crucial for the future of Zambia\u2019s people and the Zambia\u2019s environment. It may not be a silver bullet, but it sure is a good place to start.<\/p>\n

\"Boniface<\/a>

Boniface describing the properties of Gliricidia sepium<\/p><\/div>\n

My cynicism melted away that day and was replaced by a new, more refined and realistic idealism, an idealism based on practical action and self-empowerment. The ride home was much easier on my body and I made sure to wave at all the onlookers this time around. When I returned, covered in red dust and exhausted, I slumped into my bed. Rather than finding another reason to feel helpless, I had found many reasons to feel inspired. My commitment to the project was renewed as well and for the rest of our time, I began to see opportunity where once I had only seen failure. I began to see Zambia not as a place devoid of progress and wrought with problems, but rather as an unplanted garden, waiting for the right gardeners to come along a bring it to life. From a more global standpoint, the garden reinstilled in me a belief that our world is what we make it. We can turn our planet into an industry driven machine fuelled by consumption, or we can make it a beautiful, flourishing, paradise. I know this because even in the most desolate of places, I have seen it.<\/p>\n

Though I may never be back to that garden, I have a belief, a conviction, to look for new places and new ways to bring it to life.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The sound of barking dogs and crying roosters prompted me to reluctantly crawl from my warm sleeping bag and step onto the cold concrete floor in my bare feet. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes and shivering, I opened my … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":586,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"qubely_global_settings":"","qubely_interactions":"","kk_blocks_editor_width":"","_kiokenblocks_attr":"","_kiokenblocks_dimensions":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"gutentor_comment":0,"qubely_featured_image_url":null,"qubely_author":{"display_name":"Jack Bird","author_link":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/author\/jibird\/"},"qubely_comment":0,"qubely_category":"Uncategorized<\/a>","qubely_excerpt":"The sound of barking dogs and crying roosters prompted me to reluctantly crawl from my warm sleeping bag and step onto the cold concrete floor in my bare feet. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes and shivering, I opened my … Continue reading →","post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/586"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":27,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6\/revisions\/27"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blogs.scu.edu\/findingeden\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}