A GRS record?

Mayukwayukwa again. As I wrote on my Facebook status,

"Destination: Refugee Settlement

Goal: 700+ people tested in one football/netball VCT tournament

We'll see how it goes..."

And go it did. Not without any hitches, but by now I realize that's to be expected for these big events. But maybe I should start at the beginning.

* * *

It was nice to come back and know things a little bit - pulling up in the dark, past sunset but before complete blackness shrouds the scenery, I knew what lay immediately beyond, what to expect, how the basics work; give people hugs, shake their hands, remember their names. I went for a run my first morning and heard someone say, "Hi Max!" I stopped and gave the young woman a hug - she wasn't one of our GRS coaches but maybe a netball coach. I had no idea what her name was, but she clearly knew me. The day after that I was walking with a few of our coaches and thought I heard some kids call out "Maxime! Maxime!" I must be hearing things, I thought. They must be saying something else. I turned to our coaches and said, "Wait, are they shouting my name?" "Yes, of course they know your name!" Ummm, what? There are like 10 000+ people who live in Mayukwayukwa, and granted this kids were close to where we stay, I still thought it was amazing they knew or remembered my name when I had only been there once before for five days. Talk about feeling like a celebrity. The best part of that run though? Just towards the end, 4 minutes from the chalets, three small kids no older than five years old sprinted towards me at full speed, recklessly and without abandon. I expected them to stop a cautionary six feet away as most others do, but no. They charge at me, to the point where if I hadn't stopped running I would have punted them down the bumpy dirt road. Without a second to reflect, they ambush me with hugs and giggles, giggles punctuated by nervous hiccups, becoming slightly shy after acknowledging their brazenness. I started my run again and looking over my shoulder I waved as the girl in the pink princess dress continued on her skipping jaunt.

* * *

This trip was punctuated by great conversations, feeling like I could ask the coaches questions since we were already friends, and being comfortable with all the guys I was traveling with. One of the best and most comical conversations? A totally organically grown sex talk with 9 Zambian men. It stemmed from the question if there were any "safe" days to have unprotected sex with a girl, which evolved into me giving them a rundown of what happens anatomically during a woman's menstruation cycle, and then the conversation just exploded: question upon question, some probing for knowledge that I take for granted (does having sex in different positions make it more or less safe?), others complex and long-winded (how come female circumcision is not allowed in the US?). Lazzy - our fearless leader - took it upon himself to be the moderator, assigning a speaking order and ensuring that everyone who wanted to had the opportunity to put in their two cents. My VagMon girls would be so proud.

* * *

I'm going to leave out and miss so much of what I want to capture and convey from all of the talks with coaches that I had this trip if for no other reason than because there's too much information, too much that's worth sharing, too much that just rocked me to my core, more that I thought it would. On my second day at the settlement I took a walk with three of the refugees - two coaches, Dominic (Angolan) and Francis (Congolese, I think?), and a former coach now GRS employee, Felix (Congolese). Some of our conversation was just shooting the shit, but other parts were so deep I couldn't believe they were sharing such stories with me as casually as talking about when the mangoes would be ripe. It began with me timidly asking Dom how he got here, what his background was, and if he minded sharing his story with me. His wasn't particularly appalling: his parents heard rumors of fighting elsewhere in Angola, so they left all they had - their farm, bags of maize and rice, vegetables, animals - to hop on a boad and cross the border in to Zambia. That was back in 1967. Dom was born in Mayukwayukwa. Then he started talking about some of the newer refugees: a woman from Congo arrived a year ago, only 18, gang-raped by 5 soldiers while she was trying to escape, now here in Mayukwayukwa alone; men with missing limbs, former soldiers, hands, arms, feet, legs cut off by the unforgiving blade of someone else's machete; stories of crossing borders in the nighttime, traversing jungles where the threat of death-by-vicious-animal is not only possible but also probable; sister and mother macheted to death in front of one of our Congolese coaches, and him beaten to the point of unconsciousness, only alive because he miraculously ended up in a church, he doesn't remember why or how he got there; more tame stories like Dom's where people leave everything in the middle of the night because they hear of the threat of attack; completely terrifying stories like one from the Congo where mothers are told, "Pound your infant to death in this hole in the ground otherwise we'll kill you." And they do it. I can't even fathom being put in that position, never mind the selfish or selfless decision to be made.

The coaches were curious, so curious, about what life is like in Canada, in the US. They complained about the difficulties of being a refugee, how the Zambian government wouldn't recognize them as citizens even after 10, 20, 30, 40 years of living in this country, after birthing generations of children here. They wanted job opportunities, educational opportunities, "basic human rights" - an easy catchphrase that they never elaborated on, but I kind of assume is the golden halo of hope that they assume Canada, the US, Australia and Europe provide. I asked them what they wanted. If they could have one wish, if I were magical, what would they wish for? More industry and job opportunities here? Work and school i Lusaka? Peace back home? Resettlement abroad? Despite long rambling tangents, this is what I deduced: school and work opportunities, the chance to really provide for their families, a place where they're not constantly looked at as outsiders, a place where they can live without the fear that they could be kicked out at any moment, and last but possibly the most movie-tearjerker-inducing is the chance to tell their story. At least five different people asked me to share these stories with people at home. So I'm honoring their request and sharing them with you. I hope I do them and their stories justice.

* * *

975! I fuck you not (pardon my language). The number of people who got HIV tested on Saturday was 975. Our target? 700. Last time in Mayukwayukwa? about 650, Rumors of the highest in GRS? Eight-hundred-and-thirty-something over a two-day long event in Malawi last year. But this is huge. There's nothing like the elation after a completely exhausting, draining day when you find out that not only did you succeed in whatever way, shape or form you were trying for, but you surpassed what you hoped for. It's like your body is finally able to relax, your mind can't process what's happened, and you're left in a sort of peaceful, dumbfounded shock. With a little sleepiness and a lot of joy thrown in the mix. I feel personally affected by this success which is silly because there were so many people who did so many things to make this event happen, but I guess I mean to say that I'm proud of what everyone did and I would have been pretty upset if it hadn't gone well.

That's not to say that there weren't major challenges, there definitely were - there wasn't enough buffer to go around (which is essential to do the test with the instant Determine HIV kits) so some counsellors started over an hour late (we solved it by going around and administering saline solution to them by using syringes); we ran out of reporting forms and hand to write form after form after form by hand; early in the day at about 11 AM we finished the 700 Determine kits we had brought ourselves (!) and had to get about 300 more fro the local clinic. However, because they report to the government we needed to handwrite a second form to indicate the age, name, address, result, etc. of those tested. I'm also worried about the follow-up for those who test positive - will the clinic really follow through? What kind of confidentiality is kept when HIV carries such stigma here and the community is so small? All this while I was responsible for registering counsellors and coaches, distributing lunch coupons, t-shirts, breakfast and snacks, sitting in the blazing sun, managing other problems as they came up, writing certificates of participation for the 200+ player, watching football and netball tournaments, wanting to dance and interact with the kids more than I did, and keep my cool, my calm and a smile on my face when I was either a) dealing with someone who was complaining or upset, b) talking to someone who wanted me to give them something, c) internally freaking out, or d) completely clueless on how to fix a given problem. Oh, and did I mention that because we surpassed our target we also ran out of incentives early on (we give sugar in the settlements for people who test - one of the reasons why our turnout is so high), so people were obviously upset and complaining about that. With a little bit of innovation and teamwork though, we got things done. Got things done well. The biggest surprise to me? I was able to keep my cool, go with the flow and fix the problems that arose more so (coolness-wise) than I think I would have been able to 3 months ago. Don't get me wrong, minor freak-outs occurred, but they were more internalized and pushed me to find a proactive solution. It felt different. I felt different.