"BaTaata, I'm trying to think of how to make people understand, people like me where I came from, that we need to be responsible. That we need to make big changes, political changes."
For today, A simple question or two: When you picture a farmer Like my baTaata A lanky, hair-turning-frosty-aged man named Stern In rural Zambia With a sunsweat-streaked brow Making bales of feed By stomping cowpeas Into a pit he dug, When you picture such a farmer How do you imagine The tune he is humming? … Continue reading When you picture a farmer
I still don't think anyone needs to worry about me, but the truth is this is really hard some times too. At least the way things have been going so far, I often find this experience throws the most beautiful times and the most painful ones at me in the same breath. Or rather, the same sucker-punch to the gut that knocks the wind out of me.
The habit of impostor syndrome runs deep, but I actually know stuff now. I am grateful to the mentors I've had in my time in grad school, especially for helping me to realize that one can study scientific perspectives to serve as one of but many ways of being a thinker. Teaching a high school class about agriculture, here in rural Zambia sounds pretty thrilling to me. Especially if i have the freedom to make it an agroecology/food studies type class. I only hope to give students a curriculum that is respectful of the realities they face growing up in agricultural communities in the global south in this day and age, while also being honest about the full range of options they have in their roles as farmer-citizens.
I started playing with words while studying vocab today and accidentally wrote my first poem in Tonga. It's probably chock full of grammatical errors but I'll just claim poetic license. Unfortunately I can't figure out how to insert audio I recorded, but here's Tonga text, followed by rough English translation: Cilotoyota Ndalikulota kuti ndalikuyota … Continue reading A compost fever dream
Just think: there are people out there in this world who you would love with your whole heart, and you both dont even know it. And somewhere on this Earth there is a tree growing bearing fruits you've never even imagined, whose flavors you wouldn't have dreamed. Remember this mere existence, for there lies magic. And if you should ever get to meet such people, or taste such fruits, I can tell you: there's nothing luckier.
Let's talk about fire. I am one month into the charcoal cooking life with my handy little brazier. The brazier is a round metal contraption that has a solid layer on the bottom to collect ashes that fall, and then a second level that has some small holes in it, with a cylinder wall around … Continue reading On fire, fuel, and food
On weekend mornings I used to walk over to the coffee shop, leaving slushy bootprints on salty sidewalks. I'd grab a mug and settle in with my book or computer while the town was still sleepy outside. The whirr of grinding beans and hisses of steam from the espresso machine made an underlying accompaniment for … Continue reading When you’ve planted lemon trees
This should be a story about wading through sky, a moss-slick bridge, a blinding invisible cloud raining up fromthe earthallaround drencheddrippingfloodpouring through you water on wateron water on and on washing on and gushing on and on soaking spongy shirts on sopping skin, eyes stung by an apocalyptic sunshower surrounding all sides, water, rushing to … Continue reading Content warning: lack of babboon photos enclosed