Every Peace Corps volunteer is issued a bicycle from the office before they move into their villages. These bicycles are mountain bikes from South Africa, complete with 6 gears and a tool kit. We were told over and over, “Do NOT lend out your bicycle in the village.” The reason being that the spare parts are also from South Africa (i.e. expensive) and only available at the capitol office. The local bicycles, in comparison, are dilapidated, one-geared contraptions. While I feel ostentatious riding a shiny mountain bike around the village, the gears are highly needed with all the hills in Chitipa.
Upon my arrival to Ifumbo, I kept getting an earful about Ethan, the volunteer before me. They raved about him being a “big, strong man” with “large muscles”. And just by being a big, strong man with large muscles, he was highly esteemed. Especially for his superhuman bicycling abilities. I was told he’d ride up the Ifumbo Mountains, no problem. A feat that I’m certain no one is capable of, even big strong men with large muscles. He also would ride to Chinunkha Secondary School twice a week and never have to walk his bicycle up the hills. When I’d intervene and explain that I can do the same, people would respond, “No Kala, it’s not the same. Your bike is soft.” (i.e. your bike has gears, i.e. you’re not as strong as Ethan). An acute irritation bubbled inside of me and I decided right then and there to make it my mission to bike all the Chinunkha hills, no problem. I biked through dust, I biked through mud, determined to make it up each and every hill. I started becoming obsessive; whenever my legs would shake and give out, I regarded it as a mini failure. This was all in the name of equality! I was my own activist, fighting for my own cause. And after a few months of consistent uphill bike riding, I was riding all the hills just like Ethan did, and feeling consequently smug and eager for people to watch me ride.
Months passed at site and I came to know people better, recognizing who was related to whom and remembering names. The requests for using my bicycle were becoming frequent, and not thinking much of it, I usually lent it out. Everyone shares here; I figured I should, too. Because people ride dilapidated, one-geared bicycles though, my shiny, 6-geared mountain bike was a treat. My bike would often be returned to me set on the most extreme gears, the brakes usually worn out (I need to give a lesson in brake pumping now). On one of my particular uphill rides, the chain kept skipping and I realized the gears were completely destroyed. I kept cursing at myself for being so inept at fixing things… I’m the daughter of a mechanic; I should have spent at least a little time working with my hands. Alas, I angrily pushed the bike uphill and Mr. Simfukwe, a teacher at Chinunkha CDSS, stopped to talk with me. We chatted about the weather, the students, and simple pleasantries. I was relieved; it took my mind off the bike, until Simfukwe broached the topic of Ethan. “You know, Kala,” he began, “Ethan used to ride all these hills, no problem. He was a big strong man.” Exasperated, I quickly interjected, “Simfukwe, I ride all these hills, too! I’m just the same! My bike is just having problems right now!” Simfukwe chuckled and replied the dreaded response, “Oh Kala, it’s different, your bike is soft.”
Le sigh.
