In Synch with the Skink in My Sink

I recently happened upon a small lizard, a skink I'm told, slinking about my kitchen sink. Frustrated and frazzled, he struggled mightily to escape, his little feet scratching but unable to get a grip on the shiny metal surface. These reptiles are fixtures here. They dart across walls – in my flat, in stores, churches, anywhere they might satisfy their appetite for small insects. They're equipped with feet that enable them to zip up ninety-degree inclines in search of food, which I hope and assume includes mosquitos. Hence, my complete willingness to share space with skinks!

I've no idea why, but for whatever reason – maybe the interminable U. S. presidential election campaigning (coupled with Zambia’s), my bout with malaria, or perhaps being deprived of seeing the explosion of northeastern fall foliage – this skink in my sink inspired me to compose a few (not so dirty) limericks. Consider this feeble attempt at creativity my contribution to ameliorating the effects of the faltering global economy. At least those who get paid to write (limericks?) can rest assured that I am no threat to their jobs! I hope that I have at least succeeded in communicating how we resolved the situation in my sink. Kids of all ages and my nine nieces and nephews especially, I invite your comments.

A skink I'll call Linc found himself in my sink
Did he think he could just help himself to a drink?
Slipping and sliding, he took finally to hiding
Til riding fly swatter seemed a much better tiding
Guiding Linc to send bugs to the brink

If only my sink had been zinc
Skink Linc might have climbed from my sink
No fraction of traction for all Linc’s great action
Required was a fly swatter extraction
Skink Linc now makes bugs blink in synch


I heard this weird clink in my slick metal sink
Could it be the skink Linc taking a drink?
The siding caused panicky slipping and sliding
But riding the swatter beat dipping and hiding
Skink Linc now slurps skeeters, plink plink

Termites, Trees, Tech

There are so many magnificent trees here, but given the ubiquity of termites, it's amazing anything made of wood remains standing. The evidence is seemingly everywhere, from young three-inch bumps on the ground to century-old mounds jutting two stories into the sky. Some mounds have steps carved into them that people scale to peek across the landscape. All over you find beams and benches, viable tree trunks, logs, branches, and even seedpods on the ground encrusted with light brown mud tunnels. These hard-working critters really give nature and humanity a run for their money.

Notwithstanding the little buggers many trees survive, like those in Chitambo. This village in the Northern Province is near the burial site of Dr. David Livingstone, the famous medical missionary-explorer. Scottish missionaries established Chitambo village. The local hospital, school, and church they built suggest they envisioned strengthening their fellow humanity in body, mind, and spirit. According to Chitambo's local pastor, in 1906, missionary Malcolm Moffat planted trees to initiate the settlement. There are three of these huge trees still standing; I was told they're called “bob” trees! They have tremendous girth, and bark exploding in a rich mosaic of color. Chitambo children don't climb these trees - out of respect for Moffat’s memory.









Work in Zam demands respect too. Joblessness is at seventy percent. Work is not only hard to come by but just plain hard. I met two pit sawyers in Chitambo. One alone is useless. In blazing 90-plus-degree heat one man stood atop a huge log pushing at one end of jagged steel while another sat below, pulling. The lower man dangled his legs in a pit, dug out (by hand no doubt) to allow the toothy blade clearance to slice the log perfectly in half. I’ve handled a saw only enough (and under much better conditions) to know how difficult it is to cut as precisely in half and as straight as these men did – without the saw binding.











Ironically, trees and simple means are also being used to bring technology here. All over the country barebacked men swing wooden-handled axes and picks to drop trees and excavate earth for the long, thin trench in which will be laid fiber optic cable. None of the felled trees will be wasted. They will be a blessing to many local village people who will drag them away to build huts, bed frames, or stalls for selling goods, or for making charcoal. Termites will take care of the rest.

Trees in Zam are also used to mark endings, or more hopefully, new beginnings. While in Mpika, late on a Saturday afternoon men worked feverishly to complete a coffin in time for a burial to take place the next day. What a simple unfinished wooden box that fully meets its need, don't you think?