As I sit down to try and craft another beautifully written blog post to follow in the footsteps my fellow Zam Fam, I feel overwhelmed by the amount of stories, conversations and little moments interacting with the community of Zambezi that I want to share. As I’m sure you can understand I’m finding it really difficult to encapsulate all that’s happened while we’ve been living here over the last two and a half weeks.
Three larger ideas come to mind as I reflect on my journey in Zambia. Embracing the unknown and the ways it creates space for growth, nostalgia for the present, and an inability to fully process this “life changing experience”.
Growing up, my family and I embarked on many adventures. My parents enjoyed bringing me and my brothers to random nooks and crannies around Oregon and the west coast. These random adventures consisted of many, “are we there yet?” and “Where are we even going, what’s happening?” questions, to which my parents would usually respond, “don’t worry, you’re going to love it,” and “it’s like right around the corner”. It was definitely not right around the corner, but was always a great time. Always an adventure filled with so many memories. Embracing the unknown during these moments always created a positive outcome.
Our first week in Zambia, I think I lost sight of that. We are a chatty bunch of 17 girls + Sean, and we are full of many questions and anxieties, myself included. I wanted to know what to expect, what was happening next and what the plan was for the next day. Lucia quickly reminded me in Livingstone that these kinds of answers I was fishing for were never going to be satisfactory enough and that I might as well just embrace. And since then I have embraced all the unknowns that come with day-to-day life in Zambia. Embracing the unknown has created far more room for my own personal growth throughout my time in Zambezi and for what will come tomorrow.
Embracing the unknown feels especially relevant walking into the Zambezi District hospital every day. With the care they are providing and the lack of resources they have the work these nurses, doctors, and volunteers do is extremely difficult and hasn’t gone unnoticed. I’ve built a relationship with one of the head nurses in the maternity ward named Elizabeth. Each day I walk into the ward, she welcomes me with open arms and offers me a place to sit in the back of her crammed office filled with other nurses doing paperwork or HIV tests on newborns. In the maternity ward there are eight beds for mothers that either just gave birth or are needing more attentive care. If you walk through that room there is the labor room with two beds that have always been empty each day I come. But June 2nd was different. Kamy, Becca and I walked in and two women were taking up the beds, I quickly asked Elizabeth how long they had been in; she said one of them had been in labor all night and both came in a couple hours prior. Miriam was the name of the woman in active labor, 7cm dilated experiencing contractions and vomiting as we just sat in the back office only 2 feet away as Elizabeth had me try her sweet potato, “the best African potato”. Miriam had nobody with her, no mother, no husband, no sisters, no friends allowed in this small dark room with her, just by herself as she prepares to give birth to her first child. I wanted to be present with Elizabeth as she tried to joke and make conversation about the delicious potato, but I couldn’t help but think about what Miriam was going through lying on that bed with only a black tarp and her chitenge. No blanket, no pillow. But I continued to embrace this moment, looking at Kamy and Becca, and hoping we would be able to experience Miriam giving birth. After about an hour Elizabeth got her gloves on and said “let’s deliver this baby”. As we stood there observing, feeling quite helpless, I felt tears watering up in my eyes, in awe of what was about to happen. Miriam showed immense strength, pushing four times with no screams, and hardly any noise. Just a pure badass. And just like that at 11:09am, the baby girl was born. Her cries made me cry. I couldn’t believe what I just witnessed. Miriam was instantly separated from her baby not even given a moment to embrace her daughter’s face. I got to spend more time staring at that beautiful girls face for the first 10 minutes of her life than her mother did. Still not quite sure how to feel about that.
As Miriam pulled back the curtain behind her head, her family stood right there jumping with smiles and joy. Embracing the unknown on this day reminded me that everyday is filled with a new journey.
has been a source of mutual care as we’ve
navigated sometimes difficult situations.
Another theme is the feeling of being nostalgic for the present, constantly wanting to relive the moment that just happened, wishing I could go back. This feeling always comes to me in the little moments. While I find the so called “big” moments to be incredible, I find so much joy in the little everyday moments that have made this experience what it is. Whether that be the embrace of Mama Kristin’s love exchanging few words just standing there hugging one another or chatting before bed under our mosquito nets as Taylor, Caroline, and I give each other “convent nicknames,” or the way our students in the health class get eager to share what they’ve learned with the rest of the class, or the way Jeff rolls his eyes at me and I make a snarky remark back (he usually laughs) —I’ll take it as a compliment. Others that stick out right now are the way we enter any store or home and the first thing we are told is “you are free, you are welcome here”, or the heads of the munchkins as they sneak their heads over the wall or the way we got to witness Winifrida interacting with her HIV patients while doing outreach work. These rather “small” or mundane moments are ones I hope to cherish and hold onto forever but I’m excited to recount all the other stories and moments along the way for the next months and years, and which ones stick out in my kind
A sense of complexity and pressure come with being on a trip that many have considered a “life changing experience” in their lives. Since the moment I heard about the Zambia program, I knew I’d find a way to come and through the support of my parents and the application to a few scholarships here I am. I can now say I am living in what I know and hope to be this life-changing experience. I have yet to process all that has happened and how I will resume life back in the states but that’s a challenge for once I return. I haven’t had the time to decompress; I’ve been busy living in the moment and being present with those I am with. I know there will come a time when I can start to feel all the feels of the moments that make up Zambezi 2025 but I wonder which ones will ends up sticking out the most. I can easily show a photo or recount these moments in time but it will never do justice to the totality of these experiences. The indescribable feeling of watching Dr. Clayton write a death certificate for a sweet 10 year old girl who passed due to severe pneumonia and malaria, or the screams and cries of the 20 women outside the pediatric unit as they dealt with the news of her passing, or even just the calming presence of a mother figure having mama Katendi living in the convent with us.
As much I hope to come back to this incredible town and magical country, this experience has been life changing in the sense that it’s an experience I’ve never had and may never have again. As I wrote this blog, James talked to me about how the way we learn isn’t immediate, but rather we filter it through all of our previous experiences and pre convinced notions of the world. Throwing away those preconceived notions I may have had before coming to Zambia is life changing in itself. Through conversations with my ZamFam and Jeff and James maybe just the words humanize, complicate, and accompany will be the some of the most life changing.
While this is only a glimpse of my personal experience in Zambezi, I hope you have enjoyed a few of the snippets from my time.
I want to say a special thank you to my mom and dad for the love and support in helping me get here and making this experience possible, I miss you more than you know, give Finn and Willy a big hug for me. And to all my girls, Chub, Izzy, Mona Greta Sofi and all the others I sent this blog to, I love you so big, see you very soon.
Ellie Davies
Class of ’27
What a beautiful and heartfelt reflection Ellie! Thank you for sharing as I think many people struggle with trying to live fully in the moment while simultaneously recognizing the depth of the experience may not be something that can be fully grasp until much later.
Caroline O., we miss you greatly and are counting down the days until you return like it’s Christmas! We hope you get to rest a little the last few days and on your flight home as we want you to tell us about every second of your trip. We love and miss you!
Oh Wow, your experience there sounds to be life altering. To question which moment in time will stick with you is a great reflection, and hopefully all of it will be with you. When they will reappear to you is the question.
As James was quoted in a early blog, “The learning doesn’t stop once you leave Zambia”. The seeds are being planted, the emotions are the soil, and this blog and the photos are the watering. (you have to continue to water to make things grow)
Heather and I were just talking about how it will be when Kathleen gets back, preparing, waiting for the moment we set eyes on her…but I am getting a head of my self, your journey is not yet complete. I think we all can’t wait to see our children, as they come back and ready to grow even more.
Thank all for such a wonderful blog post.
Every day when I read these reflections, my heart is full for all the ways this ZamFam is learning, experiencing, wondering, stretching, changing, growing, struggling and rising to the joys, sorrows and challenges of it all. Savor every moment of your remaining days with these people you have grown to love. They will be with you forever. Thank you to the 17 girls + Sean for taking the time to share with us each day which leaves a huge imprint on my heart for each of you and your new Zambian Family.
Love to all (especially Carly!)
Carly’s Grammy
Oh, Ellie! Ellie, Ellie, Ellie. WHAT A POST. Wow. You had me at “Nostalgia for the present.” What a phrase. If that doesn’t speak to your appreciation and recognition of how sacred this time feels, not sure what could.
This experience would be absolutely complicated and intense EVEN IF YOU WEREN’T WORKING IN A HOSPITAL. But that you (four) are literally experiencing life and death during your days — *on top of* being in a new country, culture, community, convent — well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you (or Taylor or Kamy or Sloane) that what you’re experiencing in Zambezi District Hospital is layers upon layers of intensity AND sacred and beautiful — but also probably super-kinda-really-scary at times. I can’t pretend to know how you process your days there (if at all, really) while in the midst of so much other complicated newness. But hearing your stories makes me wish I’d been prayin’ just a little bit harder for the four of you girls specifically. It also makes me wish I could know and hug Elizabeth. I bet it won’t be easy to say goodbye to her. I’m honestly stunned by what you’ve witnessed. So much beauty, so much pain. The description of Miriam giving birth for the first time, alone — no blanket, no pillow. While that precious, brand-new baby girl could not look into her mother’s eyes during her first ten minutes of life, I can only imagine the amount of love you reflected back her, Ellie. ‘Cuz that’s just who you are. I pray mom and daughter are both doing well in their first weeks together. The reality and sounds of those loved ones mourning the 10-year-old who died? No words. I am proud of all four of you for scrubbing up every day for this role of witnessing and serving. While a one-of-a-kind opportunity, It doesn’t take a therapist to tell you this hospital placement — as rich an experience as it is — has also been served with a side of trauma. But this here therapist is naming/acknowledging it anyway. (And since I already know and love Ellie … giving myself permission to offer a big, awkward, virtual hug while quietly saying in your ear, “Girl, you’ve seen some shit. Well done, you.”) xo
(Sorry for the swears, Mia. FWIW, I made it to Zambezi-Day-#20-something without using ONE swear on the blog comments, but Ellie’s post done broke my resolve … so …)
James is right about learning not being immediate. I suspect there will be much processing and re-entry disorientation (and longing to connect with each other) as you come home and try to pair your Zambezi experience with the contrast of hitting the ground back into this excessively resourced, wasteful, oft inhumane and not polychronic culture we live in. (We *do* have unlimited hot showers and tacos here, though … so all is not lost.) 😉
With each post, I’m increasingly grateful for James and Jeff and Lucia. I’m increasingly grateful for Mama Katendi. In fact … with only a handful of days left for you all in Zambezi, I have a request: if so inclined, would one of you share a photo of Mama Katendi in a future post? I don’t know why I’m tearing up as I ask for this and think of her … but I just know she’s special and holding you and nourishing you. Would you please tell her we (so many of us, I’m guessing) want to express our thanks and love to her? Thank you, Mama Katendi. Thank you for all you are giving and absorbing.
Lastly, you know how it’s likely you find yourself truly loving people in Zambezi who were absolute strangers just weeks ago? Well, I want *each* of you to know that this is how many of us who’ve been on the daily blog-end of this journey with you now feel about YOU *all*. I find myself having love for ZamFam “strangers” I only barely saw at SEA TAC for 5 minutes as you shuffled off for this adventure. In each post, you have let us know you — and the parts of you that you may not usually share and/or are hard to share. Each of you has taught me. Each of you (truly) has challenged my mind or heart in some significant way. And I love you for it and for who you are.
“Mia, you can’t come home ‘cuz the house is a mess.” (Just in case you miss/forgot how insane I am.) 😉 I’m so damn proud of you and just want you to know I’m already beginning to *get* how weird and hard it may feel to return. I got you, hon. However you need it. xoxoxoxo
9:19 AM in Oakland. 6:19 PM in Zambezi
xoxo,
Elisa / Mama
1-2-3
Dingo you’re the best! I love your sense of adventure. You’re always up for the next challenge. It is not the destination but the journey along the way. Living in the moment. You are so strong and full of love and happiness. I am so proud of you and all the work you’ve done to get to this amazing place on the other side of the globe. I love the concept of are we there yet- you’re there now! You all are doing an amazing job of living in the moment and making the most of this grand adventure! We can only imagine all the little experiences that make up this big amazing trip. Its so normal to fear the unknown and want to know just what exactly IS around the corner. You all have gone to the corner and seen what is possible.
As a little girl, you were not one to just sit back and accept the unknown. You wanted to where we were going, who would be there, how long it would take…which is something to embrace in itself. These things help you prepare and make the most of an adventure, but you know all to well the saying “don’t worry about it, you’re going to love it!” And this trip embodies that perfectly. While you have all done the hard work over the last year to prepare for the trip, you’ve undoubtedly experienced so much unknown, so much adventure, so much letting go that is uncomfortable but you have reaped the rewards because you were prepared for the unknowable adventure of life!!
I can’t wait to hear more stories. The hospital, the safari (I bet that seems like MONTHS ago!) and all the experiences of meeting so many of the warm and welcoming people. The long dusty, dirty, uncomfortable rides. The bonding. The tears, the fears. Its all so inspiring.
Know that your visa appointment is in the works for your next grand adventure- don’t worry! We love you so much. Hugs to all your pals. Can’t wait to see you next week!!
Love,
Dad
Jeez- I can’t get through these posts without a box of tissues. The ZamFam of 17 girls + Sean sure know how to write in ways that bring those of at home (missing you all) right along with you. What a gift sharing these stories, reflections, and insights is.
Elisa is right, you have seen so much! And heavy stuff. Life is tough- and so much harder than for most of us I imagine. These experiences all in such a short time is too much to process and I love the analogy to the garden- watering it to keep it growing. You will process all this over time- this summer, next year and over the next many years. And they will help form the beautiful contributing members of society that you all are becoming.
I can’t wait to hug you, Elle, and to hear your stories and see the reactions from your brothers and cousins too. By sharing your experiences, you and your ZamFam will inspire so many others to embrace the moments and know they are free and will be welcomed in so many places.
Love you so much,
Auntie B
Ellie Ellie Ellie!!! I have been waiting for so long. Taking my ochem final in 10, but I am going to rush through with the incentive of getting to read your sweet words after. Love you
Hi Ellie!! I have been thinking of you so much, wondering how your courageous adventure has been going. I am so looking forward to when you return and we all can go out to the house. I have a zillion questions I would like to ask, though I am not sure you can reply. Anyways, you are probably more safe in Zambia than any place in this country. Madness. I also am sure looking forward to seeing photos of your brave journey.
Much Love to you, Ellie!
Fred
Ellie your words and insight never cease to amaze me. You have a way, a perspective, an ability unlike no other to view this complex world filled with complex moments and dissect them in such wonderful ways. Although you are miles and miles away in Zambia you have still found a way to teach others by providing your insight in a beautifully educated manner as you always do, and inspire me to be introspective, which is always so appreciated. I loved being able to read about what you’ve seen and learned through your three themes, and especially appreciated what you’ve shared James said. It has been something I have been thinking of myself yet the more I think about it the more I realize how out of control I am, which I cannot imagine you feeling in the story you shared about Miriam.i think you found the simple answer which is to appreciate the smallest moments which serve as building blocks for all that you have experienced. I can’t begin to imagine how you are or will digest all the incredible things this trip has brought you, but it does seem to be a life changing experience that is certain. Can’t wait to talk to you about it all upon your return. As much as I love a blog post it cannot encapsulate how amazed I am at what you’ve shared, or the many many questions I have for all you have been doing. So I will cut it here. Love you keep being awesome Ellie.
Ellie – Thank you for sharing this deeply moving reflection. Your honesty, vulnerability, and ability to bring us into both the extraordinary and the ordinary moments of your experience has meant so much. I’ve found myself genuinely looking forward to each blog post—carving out time in my day to sit quietly, read, and feel connected to the heart of this journey and to my sweet Caroline M.
While I’m so excited for you all to return home to your families and begin to share your stories, I’ll admit I’m also a little sad to see these posts come to an end. They’ve become a touchstone—a small but powerful way to witness your growth, your wonder, and your widening perspectives.
I know the full impact of what you’ve experienced won’t be fully understood for months, maybe even years. That’s what makes it so special. I’m also left wondering, honestly, how reentry will feel for you all, and especially for Caroline M.—how best we can listen well, support gently, and make space for whatever that process looks like. I suppose, just like you’ve done in Zambezi, we’ll have to practice embracing the unknown too.
With sincere gratitude for all you’ve shared. Wishing you peace as you carry these stories forward and prayers for your final days.
Caroline M – dad has returned home safely and reunifying makes me so happy, which I so look forward to doing with you soon. Love you pretty girl!
With love,
Sarah Murphy
Ellie thank you for sharing some of your most memorable “little” moments. Fully living life with others is beauty, pain, celebration, and a whole host of other emotions. Walking alongside each other as these experiences are lived in this moment in time is creating a perspective and strength that will serve you for the rest of your life. The candor and vulnerability with which you write speaks to your ability to connect with and support those around you. Thank you!
Taylor- I picture you under that mosquito net talking and joking with Caroline and Ellie and I am just so incredibly grateful for your “new” friends. I can hardly wait to hear what your convent nickname is. Love you and am counting the days until Monday!
Ellie-
I’m a day late reading this post but am soooo glad I did. You wrote a beautiful post describing your personal journey and I’m so impressed with how you’re processing and absorbing. Your descriptions of the emotional highs and lows of the hospital setting are poignant. Personally witnessing the miracle of a birth (especially from that kind of badass mom!) and the lows of a pediatric death which are multiplied enormously by family grief are things most people will not comprehend. I am so thankful that you, Sloane, Taylor and Kami are there to help each other. Sometimes it takes tremendous bravery to walk back in the hospital after a tragic event. You are strong!!
You all are in my thoughts but especially big hugs for the 4 of you.
Oh Ellie, I can only grasp the tiniest bit of how this experience has been, and yet, I also feel I can understand all of the feelings you describe. Especially perceiving how big the experience is in the moment, while also viewing it from the future with nostalgia, even if that is just a few moments after it happens. Some life experiences really feel like that in a powerful way, and it is so emotional!
You are so special and the way you see the world is special too, with a warmth and sparkle and concern for others that lights up the room. I am impressed by how open you are and how willing you are to open your heart, even to pain and the realities of others.
It is so natural to want to know what the heck is around the corner, right? But we never know and we keep trying. It is so great just to be in the whole experience as you are, and can’t wait to see you very soon to hear even more about this profound trip! Enjoy the last parts of it, and see you very soon.
Love and hugs,
ZZ
Ellie – First of all – are you an Oregonian? Saw the reference to Oregon…RESPECT! Even more respect for your story about witnessing Miriam giving birth. I watched Natalie and her siblings being born. Are you kidding me? After seeing that, all I can say is “it’s good to be a guy” so we don’t have go through that…Wow! It’s great that you could be there with Miriam and share that special moment with her (and her newborn daughter). Also, in your blog post you mentioned that you’ve “been busy living in the moment and being present with those I am with.” Umm…how about remaining in that state as much as possible? That’s it!
Ellie I am just now reading this so I don’t know if you will even see it but I miss you more than you know and I am just so proud of you and everyone there. These are gonna be experiences that no one back here will really understand and that is something so special to this group. You are among memories and learning lessons that will last your whole lifetime and I am in awe of you. You are just full of life and love and I miss my sunshine Ellie at home but the people there that get to see you everyday and hear what you have to say are some really lucky people and I’m glad that they get to expiernce Ellie, everyone should get to at some point! I’ve been praying for you and everyone there and I know it will no so hard to leave and try to get back into life here but Ellie we all love you here at home and have open arms waiting to hear about your stories and just sit with you while you try to process everything that you have done. Love you to pieces and can’t wait to see you (: xoxoxoxoxoxo