Gonzaga-in-Zambezi

Today, Friday, June 3, 2022, marks exactly one week since arriving in the vibrant community of Zambezi. As each day passes, we have begun to understand our roles in this beautiful place. Most mornings, I head out for an early run with a large group, Paal, or sometimes just by myself, and, if I’m lucky, I catch the sunrise. Along with the breathtaking view of a fiery red sun breaking through the horizon and shedding light on the trees and plains along the Zambezi River, waking up early to explore the sandy streets of this community offers an opportunity to see an aspect of life here largely unseen, yet equally important to be shared.

After lacing up my shoes this morning, I quietly slipped out the convent doors to be welcomed by the noise of roosters both near and far. The sun hadn’t quite risen, but the light from its upward movement caused a grey-like illuminating effect on the sky, enough to see well enough in front of me and the perfect time to start running. Already, adults and children had begun biking or ox-carting goods towards the direction of the Zambezi market, and kids outfitted in plaid uniforms were walking in couplets towards the Zambezi Basic School. Returning from my run, three kids on their way to school waved hello and began running with me. Catherine, Robby, and Tina, fully suited in formal attire, found it perfect for running a mile or so with some random guy like myself before their day of school. They were on their way to the Basic School, where I happen to work at teaching physical education with Debby Kensoma. While they weren’t students I was familiar with, they expressed their excitement for their upcoming day. Parting ways, I couldn’t help but think that the people of Zambezi—just like some of you reading—get up early to provide for their families or livelihoods by working towards a goal or future with hopes of being in a better place than the day before.

As more time is spent here in Zambezi, unique opportunities to shed light on the lives and ways of living here seemingly emerge from nowhere, whether or not you’re ready. In my free time here, inspired by the casual nagging of my little sister (Hello, Mary, I hope you’re doing well), I carried along and read the book, A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickins. In this novel, I found a particularly significant line: “That every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.” This quote fits this trip as we have begun to explore that mystery of people who lead lives far different from our own in Eastern Washington. Additionally, I believe this quote highlights the focus of our purpose, accompaniment, walking alongside the Zambezi people with hopes to understand their way of life, or simply, their mystery.

Yesterday, after expressing interest in the trading methodology, I wandered to the river with Josh, seeking to understand the lives of the boatsman on the Zambezi. I met Gilbert, an angler who has been working for thirteen years catching Kapenta—a tiny type of fish, commonly seen dried—to provide for his family of three children. Every morning, he boats his wife across the river with the Kapenta caught from the day before to sell at the market and then proceeds to set his nets along the Zambezi River to later collect in the evening and repeat the process the next day. I also had the opportunity to meet Stewart, a man who provides a ferry service to cross the river from seemingly all times of day, primarily to deliver individuals looking to buy or sell items or goods at the Zambezi market. Crossing the river upwards of twenty times per day—no easy task—on a carved and chipped boat of Mukwa wood, Stewart practices a tradition of the Luvale Tribe, wherein the old teach the young the ways of crossing the Zambezi River through traditional practices.

Being an outsider, it could have been easy to see both Stewart, Gilbert, and all those trekking towards a day of work or study as mere conduits to a small-town economy and not offer much thought to their individuality or their livelihood. While their work may differ from ours, they too have experiences worth exploring and learning from that can contribute to our understanding of the Zambezi life and culture. While my insights are but a fraction of the group perspective, I believe we are all continually unfolding the mysteries and profound secrets of many individuals in this community. Tomorrow we depart the convent for our Home-stay, in which we spend a night with an unknown member of the Zambezi community. This blog will not be updated until Sunday afternoon (PST). If you’re reading this and a loved one you know is on this trip, leave them a note of encouragement as we continue on our journey. 

Ufuku Mwane,

Brendan McKeegan ’24

Wow. We have been in Zambezi for nearly one week, yet it feels like it’s been a month away from home. Throughout this time, I have been continuously struck by the kindness and trust that has been offered to me by others.

I think of Wendy, a local tailor and friend of Jeff’s. A few days ago, she graciously welcomed me, Emily, Kalie, Mackenzie, and Jeff into her small store where she sells chitenge. Inside, beautifully patterned cloths laid over the edge of the countertop while premade shirts and dressed hung from a rope attached to the ceiling. I was drawn to this beautiful, bright yellow fabric adorned with blue flowers. It was gorgeous, but I was worried it would be too bright or not look good on my complexion. In that moment, I decided to place my trust in the hands of the other women in my presence. I asked them to choose between the bright yellow chitenge and another more subtle blue one. In an immediate consensus, they agreed that the yellow one was perfect. Then, as if the universe decided to reciprocate this trust, Wendy responded with a yes when I asked her if I could hold her baby, Melania (pronounced meh-lah-KNEE-ah). She carefully untied the chitenge that held Melania on her back and placed the three-month-old in my arms. I was ecstatic and surprised that Wendy would let me hold her baby despite us meeting about ten minutes prior. She had placed her trust in my arms.

I also think about my time at the Zambezi District Hospital. The Health Outreach team, comprised of myself, Tyler, Emily, Mackenzie and Kalie, has engaged in volunteering at the hospital’s MCH (Mother and Child Health) clinic. Here, alongside our fellow Zag Caroline, we support the nursing and community health staff to provide care to expecting mothers, new mothers, and their children. Yesterday was the day for mothers who had given birth within the last two weeks and their neonates (babies). When we first arrived, I again placed my trust in the hands of the nursing staff. I hoped that they would have the time and the patience to teach us about the services being provided. In a way, this did actually happen. Eucharia, our friend, nurse at the hospital, and one of the most empowering women I have met, explained and taught us some of the services. With the exception of Mackenzie, we have no significant clinical experience, but Eucharia placed her trust in our hands. This choice was not only impactful for us as students, but for the mothers as well. She taught me and Tyler how to administer oral polio vaccines to crying babies that were less than fourteen days old. When she placed the dropper in my hand, my nerves faded away as her trust allowed me to trust myself. Conversely, the mothers watched Eucharia trust us, which helped assuage any concerns they might have had about two college students learning how to protect children from polio. In this instance, the trust of the mothers and Eucharia was placed in our hands.

Now, we have also had experiences of placing our trust in the hands of others. Kalie, with our wary trust in her hands, took it upon herself to create hand-drawn portraits of everyone in the group. While we were all nervous about her creative talents, it was wonderful to “see” ourselves in a place with no mirrors. Each day, we place our trust in the hands of our peers and the Mamas to cook our meals. We trust that they will shop and prepare nutritious meals that we can bond and laugh over each day. We place our trust in their hands. After buying our beautiful chitenge, we trust local tailors like Jessie, Mary, Brenda, a different Mary, and Ben’s sister (no one has managed to catch her actual name) to craft beautiful skirts, dresses, shirts, and bags. We trust the experiences of others and the skills of the tailors to make our fashion dreams come true.

The wonderful yet scary thing about trust is that it can be hard to extend to new people. We all know people who have betrayed or violated our trust in the past. It can be hard to move on. Yet, this trip and these wonderful people around me have helped me to realize the liberation in learning to let go. It can be stressful to not know where we are headed next or if I will like our next meal; but it is also incredible, freeing, and wonderous. I am excited each day for what the new day will hold. It is a blessing to be here, and I am grateful to our family, friends, neighbors, and others in our corner for placing your trust in our hands to create the meaningful, new relationships with Zags and Zambians alike.

With love and gratitude,

Jazmine Newson,
Gonzaga class of ‘23

Wow. We have been in Zambezi for nearly one week, yet it feels like it’s been a month away from home. Throughout this time, I have been continuously struck by the kindness and trust that has been offered to me by others.

I think of Wendy, a local tailor and friend of Jeff’s. A few days ago, she graciously welcomed me, Emily, Kalie, Mackenzie, and Jeff into her small store where she sells chitenge. Inside, beautifully patterned cloths laid over the edge of the countertop while premade shirts and dressed hung from a rope attached to the ceiling. I was drawn to this beautiful, bright yellow fabric adorned with blue flowers. It was gorgeous, but I was worried it would be too bright or not look good on my complexion. In that moment, I decided to place my trust in the hands of the other women in my presence. I asked them to choose between the bright yellow chitenge and another more subtle blue one. In an immediate consensus, they agreed that the yellow one was perfect. Then, as if the universe decided to reciprocate this trust, Wendy responded with a yes when I asked her if I could hold her baby, Melania (pronounced meh-lah-KNEE-ah). She carefully untied the chitenge that held Melania on her back and placed the three-month-old in my arms. I was ecstatic and surprised that Wendy would let me hold her baby despite us meeting about ten minutes prior. She had placed her trust in my arms.

I also think about my time at the Zambezi District Hospital. The Health Outreach team, comprised of myself, Tyler, Emily, Mackenzie and Kalie, has engaged in volunteering at the hospital’s MCH (Mother and Child Health) clinic. Here, alongside our fellow Zag Caroline, we support the nursing and community health staff to provide care to expecting mothers, new mothers, and their children. Yesterday was the day for mothers who had given birth within the last two weeks and their neonates (babies). When we first arrived, I again placed my trust in the hands of the nursing staff. I hoped that they would have the time and the patience to teach us about the services being provided. In a way, this did actually happen. Eucharia, our friend, nurse at the hospital, and one of the most empowering women I have met, explained and taught us some of the services. With the exception of Mackenzie, we have no significant clinical experience, but Eucharia placed her trust in our hands. This choice was not only impactful for us as students, but for the mothers as well. She taught me and Tyler how to administer oral polio vaccines to crying babies that were less than fourteen days old. When she placed the dropper in my hand, my nerves faded away as her trust allowed me to trust myself. Conversely, the mothers watched Eucharia trust us, which helped assuage any concerns they might have had about two college students learning how to protect children from polio. In this instance, the trust of the mothers and Eucharia was placed in our hands.

Now, we have also had experiences of placing our trust in the hands of others. Kalie, with our wary trust in her hands, took it upon herself to create hand-drawn portraits of everyone in the group. While we were all nervous about her creative talents, it was wonderful to “see” ourselves in a place with no mirrors. Each day, we place our trust in the hands of our peers and the Mamas to cook our meals. We trust that they will shop and prepare nutritious meals that we can bond and laugh over each day. We place our trust in their hands. After buying our beautiful chitenge, we trust local tailors like Jessie, Mary, Brenda, a different Mary, and Ben’s sister (no one has managed to catch her actual name) to craft beautiful skirts, dresses, shirts, and bags. We trust the experiences of others and the skills of the tailors to make our fashion dreams come true.

The wonderful yet scary thing about trust is that it can be hard to extend to new people. We all know people who have betrayed or violated our trust in the past. It can be hard to move on. Yet, this trip and these wonderful people around me have helped me to realize the liberation in learning to let go. It can be stressful to not know where we are headed next or if I will like our next meal; but it is also incredible, freeing, and wonderous. I am excited each day for what the new day will hold. It is a blessing to be here, and I am grateful to our family, friends, neighbors, and others in our corner for placing your trust in our hands to create the meaningful, new relationships with Zags and Zambians alike.

With love and gratitude,

Jazmine Newson,
Gonzaga class of ‘23

Every day it feels like the days get shorter, but the laughs get longer. Time here feels different. Part of it might be because I never realized there was a clock in the convent until it fell on Josh’s head last night during reflection (he’s okay), but I think it’s more than that. I think it’s even more than the fact that we are unplugged from our technology, disconnected from the world but becoming more deeply connected to each other and the community every day. Where I used to be so focused on the hour of the day or willing the 50 minutes of a class period to pass by quicker, now the day is broken up only in three parts: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Interactions aren’t planned, relationships form without notice, emotions arise suddenly. Sometimes, it can be hard to feel like we are forming genuine connection when it is so obvious that we are so foreign to this community.

Nevertheless, it happens in the ways we least expect. It happens when a man named Eddie who is taking our computer class stays afterwards to find us and gives us a poster to hang on our walls of a keyboard he meticulously drew out. It happens when we laugh with the Mamas about our new Chitenge suits and dresses that in Mama Katendi’s words make us look like “true Zambian girls” and it happened today visiting Micheal’s parents. Riding in the back of a truck with a chicken accompanying us as a gift, we made our way to Chingolala. We were greeted along the way, many smiles and waves making us feel welcome and seen. Once there, we were greeted by many members of Micheal’s family, and a group of kids which never stopped growing as more and more children became curious to see us and see what we were doing there. Despite relying heavily on our translator Terry (who speaks a total of 7 languages), we could feel the warmth and love radiating from the words of Michael’s mother and father as they welcomed us to their home. I was filled with even more respect towards Micheal and inspired by his family. I began to understand why he so frequently mentions how important family is to him.

The feelings and emotions surrounding every activity and interaction are complex and often contradicting, changing moment to moment, day by day. Each day is different than the previous and filled with multitudes of emotions, all varying in depth and their own challenges and baggage. Throughout this trip I’ve felt plagued by guilt. I’m guilty about the life I get to live, guilty about the assumptions I make about others, guilty about feeling happy, guilty about feeling sad, guilty about not being the best writer, guilty about not being the perfect friend, guilty about not washing my plate, guilty about feeling guilty. I can’t help but think, even when I’m deep in a belly laugh, that there is someone’s pain nearby—even within me sometimes. I feel a deep-rooted sense of turmoil. I’m constantly reminded of the tension between such strong emotions of joy and sorrow. These contradictions are constantly and rapidly flipping through my mind. This experience has given me time to think and to reflect, yet I never seem to be able to settle on any conclusions because in every moment, my thoughts, wants, and feelings are changing. I can be on top of the world here, but my eyes can sting from the tears I am holding back. I can be dried out and exhausted but filled with energy from a hug of a friend or the stimulation of a new conversation. Some days are so jam packed there is barely time to breathe, and others pass by giving us time to read, to meditate, and get to know each other even more deeply. Every meal feels like a celebration; a gathering to appreciate the meals in front of us, the lives we are given, the opportunities we have. We celebrate each other through the ups and the downs. Every meal, we are becoming a family, understanding each other and ourselves more deeply.

I think I speak for all of us when I say we could never say enough thanks to those reading from home who have supported us through this journey, or to those we’ve met in Zambia who are continuing to let us into their homes and lives.

I’m not sure how I am going to bring back the things I have learned from being in Zambezi to “real life” which right now feels fantastical and distant. I am not even sure I could put into words the “lessons” I have learned. But if it gives any consolation, I know in my heart that we are living fully, loving deeply, laughing until our stomachs are sore and a snort slips out of Eva’s nose. Above all, if at times I feel like I could be the only one struggling with these contradictions, I know that no one truly needs to be alone in this or any journey.

Joci Anderson, Gonzaga Class of ‘23

Chimene Mwane family, friends, alums, and other community members,

Our group is starting to settle into our routine here in Zambezi and our common spaces are coming alive with posters, affirmations, reflective pieces, and poems on the wall. And, of course, the joyful singing, dancing, and laughing that echoes from the kitchen from the rotating dish crew. This group of Zags has truly taken to heart what it means to form authentically deep relationships with ourselves and others – a reality for which I am immensely grateful.

When I began thinking about the topic of my blog, I felt unsure of where to start. How could I capture everything I have experienced? How could I honor the Zambezi community and do right by the people I have begun building relationships with? In unravelling these challenges, I realized that perhaps the best way to start is like any other event here in Zambezi, with a simple hello.

In his book In the Shelter, Pádraig Ó Tuama writes, “What is the name for the place where you now are? It requires close looking; it requires the dedication of observation and a commitment to truth. To name a place requires us to be in a place. It requires us to resist dreaming of where we should be and look around where we are. Hello to here. Hello to the name of here.”

Since the start of our time together back in January until now, and everything in between, I have said and received many hellos – some of which I am only beginning to unravel in their complexity. Each day, saying hello to here takes many new forms.

In Livingstone, I said hello to Victoria Falls, which is one of the most dramatic landscapes I have ever seen. Shortly after being soaked by the water, I said hello to the bungee jump of both thrill and fear that I took. As many Zambians and neighboring Zimbabweans told me, “Once you jump, it will feel like you have been born again.” As it turns out, they were correct. Somehow this 413-foot plumet reignited my spark for living a life of many leaps. Hello to being alive.

On Monday, the Computer Education Team and the ZamCity Team had the privilege of going to Zambezi Basic School. When we arrived, we were greeted by the deputy head teacher, Precious, who informed us that she would call an all-school assembly to welcome us and introduce us to the students. Five short minutes later, we walked out to approximately 1,700 smiling faces eager to learn our names. After introducing myself, I heard the students practicing: “autree…atree…tree.” Even though most of the students are unable to pronounce my name correctly, and even though there are occasional communicative barriers, the desire for these students to acknowledge us is abundant. Hello to the abundance.

I don’t think I have ever been in a place of such radical welcome. “Hello” extends far beyond a greeting here in Zambezi. It welcomes conversation, it invites curiosity, and it honors the humanity we each hold. I believe that people here are truly invested in meeting us, learning who we are, and building relationships with us. This is what accompaniment is all about.

These relational hellos have also called me to reflect on my chosen vocation. As many of you know, I have wanted to be a teacher for my entire life and am only one short year away from graduating. As I near this place, I frequently consider the ways I will build relationships with my students. In my teacher preparation courses at Gonzaga, we often talk about the necessity of forming relationships with our students. A key distinction I have observed here in Zambezi compared to my experience in the United States, is that relationships are not compartmentalized here. Teachers and students interact frequently and live lives that are deeply intertwined and interdependent on each other. In the United States, it’s easy to leave relationships at the door once the school day is over. I am sure we have all had the somewhat awkward experience of seeing a teacher or professor at the grocery store and wondering if we should say hello. While I say this somewhat jokingly, there is also truth to it. I have not, however, witnessed this same thing in Zambezi. Likya, the teacher Eva and I are working with at the school, has well over 40 students in each of her classes. Without fail, she knows each of their names and is a master of her craft in kindly commanding attention of her pupils. I know that this ability stems from deep and mutual trust exhibited outside the classroom. Similarly,  community members greet each other as brothers and sisters day in, and day out. It is beautiful.

Amidst the joys, there are also hellos to surprise and uncertainty. The first day we were here, Tyler and I were exploring the market and searching for chili powder (which we sadly were unable to find). Four men kept waving and beckoning us over to where they were standing. Truthfully, the first couple times they called out to us, the alarm bells that I have been conditioned to attend to started ringing. I am a woman. What do they want? Are they unsafe? What are my surroundings? After more calls however, we walked over. The first words out of their mouth were “Hi! Welcome to Zambezi. We want to greet you.” This hello was pivotal for me. It reminded me that every person has dignity and worth and it is our responsibility as a collective to honor this humanness in each other. It is this profound acknowledgement of a person’s humanity that I experienced when Christine, the great-grandmother of one of my computer students told me and Sarah that we could call her grandmother. Hello to my growing family of Mamas, grandmothers, friends, and students.

Thank you to all of you who are thinking about and praying for us. As we continue building relationships with this beautiful community, I encourage us all, Zags and friends, to greet a new experience, conversation, fear, or hope. Name it, and when you are ready, say hello.

Peace and blessings,

Audrey Buller ‘2023

When I wake up in America, I roll out of bed at the last possible minute. I trudge over to the bathroom with my hair an absolute mess and peer into the mirror seeing the disaster that needs to be fixed before I can leave the privacy of my house. In Zambia, my routine Is almost the same, except there is no mirror when I need to look at myself within the convent. I came to Zambia in hopes of finding my passion again and reflecting on who I have been thus far, without the help of my American habits. Literally, I could walk out of the convent with no idea that I had a booger the size of Pluto coming out of my nose, but I trust my peers… I think. No, I do, my fast friends have shown me myself through their own gracious eyes and have reminded me off the person I wanted to become when I was little Kalie. While in the markets I see glimpses of myself in windows, small mirrors, and cool fridge doors that hold my coveted Coke. Yes, by God’s grace they have it here. Zambians have also shown me who I am in their laughter at my jokes, absolute compassion from the moment we stepped off the plane, and vulnerability in their stories. They have all made me look inward instead of outward about who I want to be, both while I’m here and when I leave.

So, who do I want to be? Hard question, right? I want to be like the Zambian women who come three times a week to help us clean our clothes, even as they help wash away our misinterpretations of the different world we have entered. They smile as I give them my clothes with the dirt and failures of my day all over them, and they wipe away my dirty slate and allow me to grow through trying again.

I want to be like Wendy, who sells beautifully colored chitenge in the market and makes us feel welcome in the village. Every piece she gets is unique and has gone through a journey that makes them what they are. Embodying their hardships and bumps along the way until they are sold to a pair of hands that appreciates and cherishes them for what they truly are, beautiful.

I want to be like Eucharia, who treats us like her own children after only meeting us two times. Being our Mama in the hospital and offering her services to us to make sure that our work can be as valuable as possible even though she has the world on her shoulders. Truly a power woman.

 I want to be like the Zambians who bring their own computers so that others in their community can learn about how to use them. I want to be like Mama Katendi, who creates the most heartwarming food with her student assistants, giving us the positivity and energy we need to thrive in the day ahead. I want to be like Jessie, the tailor who can take my two-piece set dream and make it a reality with her sewing machine, seeing visions and listening with understanding. I want to be like Josephine who takes time out of her day to teach us her language and culture so that we can gain perspective and understanding. I want to be like my peers who will never shy away from an adventure and who take the time to look out for me, seven of which even popped their heads in while I was writing this. I want to be like the kids who cheer on our sunset whiffle ball game from “behind the wall,” supporting us and our competitive game without fail.

 Finally, I want to celebrate like the family in town who welcomed a new baby into the world today. Welcoming random “chindeles” including Eva, Emily, and Mackenzie, from the market into their dance party and teaching us how to, “Move your hips more, like this!”. Too often I pass over the little wins as I look forward to reach the next, but by slowing down these Zambians created a community and joy that I have never seen before.

I know that noticing these things is just the first step into making the leap from my life before Zambia to the life I want to live after this. Carrying this over won’t be easy or perfect, I am a human after all. However, I call out to all of you readers to please remember this when I return and challenge me to live out my goal when I forget where I came from. Reflecting in Zambia isn’t conventional or comfortable, which is what makes it such a liberating opportunity to find who I want to be.

Big hug, little kiss, little hug

Kalie Dyksterhouse
Class of 2022

Picture this beautiful scene. You have just woken up under the canopy of your mosquito net and jump out of bed, eager to put on your new chitenge, or patterned skirt, beautifully tailored by the talented Mama Mary in the market. It is Sunday and it is almost time for church. You have already heard the joyous music permeating the courtyard outside of the convent, and you are curious to see what worship will be like in Zambezi. You smell the delicious aroma of cinnamon French toast in the kitchen and go to sit in the grass to journal as breakfast is prepared, surrounded by a cacophony of chickens. It is the small moments and little observations that you make that mean the most to you.

We have only been in Zambezi for two short days. However, the moments we have shared with each other and those we have been fortunate enough to encounter have been beautiful. If you can remember from the very first blog post, in Lusaka we attended an art workshop at the National Museum. In this dialogue a prominent member of the Zambian art community, William, shared with us some advice as we embarked with intention towards Zambezi-let the community approach you. Our eagerness to meet Zambezi has been reciprocated in many acts of eagerness by Zambians to get to know us as well. The voluminous and overwhelmingly exuberant celebration of mass today reminded me again of the powerful welcome the community provided us on the tarmac with choreographed song and dance unique to Gonzaga and the presence of dozens of inquisitive, smiling children.

It is often easy to become focused on, and cling to, the grand gestures or large moments. Our lives are chaotic and busy back home with tasks and expectations demanding presence. Now, however, our intention is purely existing and being present in this place. So, while I have found awe and beauty in the expected joys such as the safari, Victoria Falls, or the feeling of our new home together, it’s the little things that I have come to appreciate the most. Zambezi is full of these little things. The smile on the little girl’s face that shows so much personality as she peers around the brick wall. The willingness of three young boys to help my scavenger hunt partner and me locate a grape soda in the market. The soundtrack of our convent as chorus singers at the church practice together in the early morning. The passion of the older man dancing to his heart in the front row of the mass service The EPIC dance of the altar boys as they move in unison to the resounding melodies. The phrase, “you are most welcome” reverberating throughout the market streets as we pass by clinging to the bed of our truck. It is in this element of noticing and receiving that I feel blessed.

While many community members are eager to attend our classes, asking about the logistics after church, or in the market, they too are facilitating the accompaniment on this journey. We have met some strong, inspiring, and dynamic leaders today. I wish that you all could experience the warmth, joy, and intention of Eucharia Saviye and Debbie Kasoma. Husband and wife, Eucharia is an experienced nurse in the district hospital and Debbie is an active teacher at the primary school, having started the ZamCity afterschool program to teach life skills through  sports and community building. Their love for each other and the Zambezi community is nothing short of inspiring. When asked if they knew of any other computers available to facilitate our classes, they spared no hesitation in offering up their own for our lessons—such profound humility. Again, it is the little things.

The sense of community that is felt here is apparent and moving. The willingness of sellers to collaborate to provide change for a customer. The dancing movement of each and every church member as they worship to the joyous music of the choir. The camaraderie of the women as the process to honor the birthday king. This morning, Father Phiri animatedly called us to be open to one another, forgive each other, and be present for others.  The support and reciprocity given to us by this community already calls us to continue to form and strengthen the relationships that are the foundation of our time here in Zambezi. It is clear that we have a purpose. We are home again tonight to turn a page and start another new, yet evolving chapter, fueled by passionate learning, a desire to walk alongside, with an intention to notice the little things.

Emily Bundy, Gonzaga ‘23

Once again, the Zags are in Zambezi! And at long last, Zambezi is more than an abstract prediction or our final destination, but rather a new reality and home. Our group remains in shock and awe of the community we are beginning to accompany.

If today, our first full day in Zambezi, is emblematic of the rest of this trip, I may just stay. It started with a run to the airstrip, where we welcomed our straggling faculty members Abbey and Catherine. Eva then a led a full abs circuit in the courtyard as our adoring fans, the children of Zambezi, watched on. After a full breakfast I walked 100 yards down the road to play soccer in the sand and the sun with the best 12-year olds I have ever seen. After my team casually lost 8-0, I searched for Jazmine unsuccessfully in the markets, so that we could buy needed but elusive tomato paste. We met and organized our search at lunch, but before I left, Mama Katendi handed me a knife, a bowl, and pointed to three chickens. As instructed, I quickly cut the heads off our dinner. Jazmine and I finally found our desired tomato paste in the ninth store we visited. After a long day, homework continued with reading about the principles of accompaniment and the drawing of a personal map of Zambezi. I can only hope to offer something in return to the glorious welcome we have received from this wonderful corner of the world.

We may have only seen the tip of the African iceberg called Zambezi, but we have already begun reflecting upon our early experiences here and the continued realization that we are on display: our culture, our skin. The children flock towards us in hopes of studying and feeling our strange hair, the skin of our hands, and even our ability to have fun. Only one thing is for certain; we cannot match them on the football field. Adults watch us and greet us or call out “Chindele!” or “white person.” Some occasionally inquire about the upcoming classes we’ll be teaching or eagerly beckon us into their shops. At all times I feel the need to represent where I come from but also try to adapt to this very new place. The overwhelming overstimulation of constant attention drags my consciousness in new directions, searching to find a solid base to work from.

Life within the compound and the lessons we learn from classmates and professors are hopefully beginning to build the base we need to thrive in Zambezi. We must begin to adapt to this small home to make it our own. We now rotate through needed duties like cooking and writing this blog, among other things. Our first reflection in Zambezi asked us what our hopes, fears, needs, and intent were for the next few weeks. While the answers differed, I could empathize with answers of each one of my classmates. There is so much we do not know or understand. Yet, we carry on and while each day brings new adventure with new people, we face adversity as a group and I am confident we are capable of accompanying this Zambezi community towards a hopeful future.

As we orient ourselves to this new reality, I am forced to ask myself what my purpose really is here. What gives me the right to teach something here in the first place? Our groups are meant to provide something needed in the community, but I ponder what I can teach people that I know so little about. I do not feel as if I have the answers to my questions, and many times even what questions to ask. There is still time to navigate and potentially answer these questions in our new home, but who knows where they will come from?

My first full day in Zambezi was wonderful, but I know we are here to accomplish something more than that. I hope to find it. I know we are here to accompany a community in hopes of learning and maybe teaching something new, but I and maybe others, must continue to search for our place in that process.

Our “vacation” in Lusaka and Livingstone is officially over as we begin to experience something we were always committed to but never fully believed would arrive. The nervous tension, ever growing as we neared Zambezi, shattered the moment we landed at the airfield and is now replaced by the vibrant vibration of Zambezi and our excitement to begin our work here. The grounding forces of the experiences and people that led us to this special place will hopefully lead us to new ones as we learn and adapt to Zambezi.

Paal Bredal, Gonzaga Class of ‘22

Victoria Falls is a waterfall on the Zambezi River and it is located on the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe. It is one of the world’s largest waterfalls, with a width of 1708 meters. As a Washingtonian myself, there is pretty much only one other waterfall I could think to compare it to, which is Snoqualmie Falls. I cannot begin to describe my astonishment when we first walked up to the viewpoint to see the most grand, extraordinary sight I have ever laid eyes on. If I were to estimate, I would say that these falls could equate to about 50+ Snoqualmie Falls’ – and for my Washingtonian readers, you understand how massive that is!

Yesterday was quite a spectacular day! After a morning breakfast of eggs, sausage, and toast prepared by the lovely people at Fawlty Towers, our group headed off to see the famous Victoria Falls. This attraction has been something that we have all anxiously anticipated from the first walk to our hostel in which we could see mist in the distance and wondered: are those clouds low in the horizon? Or could that possibly be one of the seven Natural Wonders of the World?

From every single viewpoint, you can see a rainbow reflecting off the side of the falls, presenting a unique array of colors to the already magnificent view. The powerful “whoosh” of the water roared in our ears from any distance. We walked along a bridge crossing the canyon and felt the mist against our skin. To the right were dense clouds of mist that were thick enough to mask the enormous falls, and to our left was a wide canyon with a splendor of green plants and trees amidst the rock walls. Prior to walking to the closest viewpoint of the falls, Jeff had warned us that we would likely get a little wet from the mist, but our clothes would dry off in the sun. However, nothing could prepare us for the sheer power of these falls, showering us with every step. Upon reaching the viewpoint, everyone in the group couldn’t hide their faces of joy and amazement. We all just stopped and lifted our arms out into the falls, surrendering to its beauty and letting the rains completely take over us. We lifted our feet and jumped in the puddles just like little kids. Some of us embraced each other with hugs, while others stood in awe. This was a moment that I will remember for the rest of my life.

From this joyous experience, most of the group headed to a bridge in the canyon that serves as a border from Zambia to Zimbabwe. This bridge also serves as an attraction for bungee-jumping, zip-lining, and swinging, which is what we were seeking to do. Around 1pm, after about a mile walk to the bridge we were met with some disappointing news: the staff had decided to take a break until 2pm and would continue their adventure operations after. Additionally, they were no longer serving any food. So, without any desire to walk all the way back to the market to get a lunch, we waited patiently and loaded up on granola bars and Coca Cola to fuel our tired and nervous selves.

And then it was time. Mackenzie, Emily, Ava, Tyler, Audrey and I all walked to the middle of the bridge for our terrifying free-fall. From our view, we could watch Eva, Jazmine, Joci, Sarah, Dugan, Andie, and Kalie zipline across the canyon from Zambia to Zimbabwe (quite literally!).

I was the very first one to jump off the bridge on a giant swing. With very little time to even process what was going on, the people working with this adventure company quickly strapped me in and dragged me out to the edge of the bridge. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to go. “Move your feet to the end!” They demanded, as I gripped their arms in terror. Just past the platform was a 413 foot descent into the canyon of the Zambezi River. One. Two. Three—Surrender.

I jumped, then fell. And fell some more. It felt like I was falling for eternity. Finally, when I was met with the cushion of the rope, I realized I wasn’t dying, but in fact flying in the most picturesque place I had ever seen. I spread my arms and legs out and screamed and laughed in delight. I couldn’t help but keep laughing. Looking up 413 feet above, I could see all my friends cheering me on. What a life this is!!

Tomorrow morning we embark on the real journey of this trip, as we will see what life outside of this tourist city looks like. None of us really know what to expect or how to prepare for this next step. But if there is one thing that we have learned thus far, it is that we just need to surrender and trust in the process. There are many things that are out of our control, but I believe each of us are here for a reason and our unique qualities are going to blend together beautifully in partnership with the community we meet in Zambezi. Thank you to everyone reading and keeping up with our journey, we can feel your support from many miles away. This is just the beginning of it all, and we could not be more excited.

–Katy Rettenmier, Gonzaga ‘24

It has been an exciting two days! As I am writing this, we are in Livingstone unpacking from our safari adventure in Botswana’s Chobe National Park. It was the most beautiful, inspiring, and perspective-altering experience.

Our group formed in the SeaTac airport a little over a week ago, so we are still figuring out the group dynamic and building trust. These last couple of days has provided us the opportunity to go deeper with each other. We now have nicknames, inside jokes, and the first beginnings of mutual trust and respect. The safari was a beautiful environment for us to strengthen bonds, create lasting community, and soak up each other’s company before our departure for our pursuit of accompaniment in Zambezi’s community and culture.

Our journey started with a boat cruise on the Chobe River—led by the charismatic and beyond knowledgeable, Mr. T. Wildlife on the river is lively, harmonious, and thriving. Each animal has a role, and they play it perfectly. The boat and the open-air Land Cruiser tour provided an ideal environment to observe, record, and bond with the animals and each other.

The animals—on the river and in the park—were as majestic, enchanting, and enormous as they seem in photos and media. Chobe National Park has no shortage of impalas, elephants, and giraffes. In the beginning of our tour, our co-leader Abbey said something along the lines of, “Impalas are the McDonald’s of the bush.” She was right; it seemed like an Impala was never out of view for very long. However, I learned to appreciate their comforting presence as time went on.

We were lucky enough to see a pride of lions feasting after a freshly made kill of Cape buffalo. That whole first day we were on the hunt for lions. It was approaching dusk as we drove endless dirt roads tracking them, but things felt different as Mr. T slowed our vehicle and said he smelt a fresh kill (I’m telling you—this guy was a legend!). We began to see other vehicles parked alongside the road and slowly 3 male lions came into view. We were so close! As we moved further along, we saw the buffalo carcass and more lions feasting from it. I expected to feel more sad or disgusted by the act, but it truly was beautiful. Mr. T explained it well when he said, “the lions are grateful to the buffalo for providing food for the pride.” As we drove away, we saw two buffalos lying under a tree about 500 feet away grieving the loss of their loved one. It was tragic, but somehow peaceful. “Life on the bush,” said Mr. T.

As majestic as the lions were, they could not compare to my love for elephants. Elephants are amazing to see in real life, in the wild. It is clear, they are wise, loyal, and family-oriented. We saw countless baby elephants with their herd, and their mamas never failed to shield and protect their babies from outside influence. We could see them playing, teasing, and loving on one another. Trust me when I say, many tears were shed.

As we sat around the fire at night and asked each other questions. My peer Kalie poised a question to Mr. T. She asked why he chose to become a guide, and in classic Mr. T fashion he responded with, “because I see and learn something new every day.” That stuck with me. Mr. T is a lifelong learner, and I think we all could benefit from his wisdom and the lessons from the bush.

Our time on the safari was beautiful and amazing, but it was also reflective and challenging. There is nothing more pure than seeing mother nature in all her glory, and Chobe National Park provided us all an opportunity to grow and think deeply about our actions and behaviors. Abbey might have said it best—as she sobbed at the sight of baby elephants nursing from their mother—”why can’t everyone just recycle?”

The Animals on the bush can teach us all valuable skills, and I saw unique traits in each species that reminded me of our own characteristics and values:

The strength of lions to take down prey,
the loyalty of water buffalo to mourn their fallen mere feet from their predators,
the patience of hippos to bask in the sun and float in the water as a practice of self-care,
the trust of giraffes to follow their tower blindly,
the ambition of impalas to always seek the strongest mate, and
the love of elephants to protect their young from any outside disturbance.

I wish—for myself and our community—these traits throughout our journey to Zambezi and beyond.

Nicole “TANJ” Perry
Gonzaga ’23

Hello from Livingstone! Today we had another busy schedule that continued to enlighten and challenge us. Again, we were encouraged to partake in genuine and, sometimes, difficult reflection, making our time here that more meaningful.

In the morning, after our lovely breakfast at Fawlty Towers, we participated in a guided tour at the David Livingstone Museum, just up the road from us. This tour was intended to last about two hours, but like any other valuable thing in life, it took time. More time than we initially gave it credit for. We left the museum four impactful hours later, and I was feeling both in awe and unease.

The tour included information on human evolution, cultural practices, Zambian history, and David Livingstone, a white, British missionary. He made three trips to Africa in his lifetime, passing away during his third, and eventually becoming the man that the city of Livingstone is named after. I came in with an expectation that David Livingstone, a colonizer, would be depicted with the same connotation that we hold for those individuals. However, he was held in a much more positive light. Not only is the museum named after him, but there is an entire section dedicated to him and his three excursions. For me, this was the beginning of a greater realization.

Throughout the entire tour, but especially David Livingstone’s section, our tour guide did an exceptional job providing the facts. She explained historical events, their effects, and the reactions met with them. And the level of knowledge that she shared – it left me speechless.

Multiple thoughts flew through my mind. First, there was not one point in the tour where I felt I was being told how to feel, or that information was not being shared. Yet, it also became clear the emotions held with each topic being discussed. We were receiving the truth – all the good, the bad, and everything in between. It was refreshing. Second, our tour guide was so incredibly knowledgeable of Zambian history. Granted, it is her job, but there was a uniqueness to the way she interacted with us and the history she presented that stood out as distinctly special.

At one point in the tour, we mentioned our upcoming journey to Zambezi, and her face lit up in response. She jokingly said, “take me with you!” this interaction was revealing in the fact that while we are having this spectacular opportunity to travel across the country, various Zambians do not have that same chance. But in no way are we any more deserving than our tour guide to have that experience. So, in that sense, it was a nice reminder of how privileged we are to see the things we’re seeing, and to feel the emotions we feel.

Leaving the museum, once the awe sunk in, I began to feel another realization. There has never been a point in my life where I could explain American history to the point our tour guide did. I simply do not know it well enough, nor have I carried a sense of urgency to thoroughly know it. But ironically, I believe that there is a significant importance on knowing history to grow from it – to learn from mistakes, and to celebrate the ways in which perseverance unfolds. Our tour guide provided a sense of pride for the history. I saw this pride especially when she was explaining the meaning of the Zambian flag. The colors – green, orange, black, and red – all represent something. Green for the agriculture, orange for the minerals, black for the black population, and red for the bloodshed spilled while fighting for independence. This importance for and pride of history shown by our tour guide fittingly manifests in her beautiful name, Memory.

This idea of being proud of one’s country is not foreign to me, nor would I say it is foreign to the rest of our group. However, I do believe there is a difference in what that means for us, especially in a foreign country. We all know the rude and ignorant American stereotype. We have seen it first-hand while we’ve been here – by other American travelers, and even ourselves, unintentionally. It is real, and it is something I expect our group to continuously tackle during our time here.

Later in our day, we made a trip to the Royal Livingstone Hotel, right on the edge of Victoria Falls. Here we had a traditional British High Tea with delicious sweets. On our way there, myself and seven others had a very genuine conversation with our van driver, Charlie. He spoke of his family, smiling with every word. He shared the importance of his grandmother, his Gogo, to him. He told us the wise advice she gave him when dealing with rude or inconsiderate customers, specifically American ones. Her advice was, “try to understand their perspectives and your life will be easier.”

I think it’s safe to say hearing that required a moment of thought afterwards. Such a simple sentence yet the intentionality behind it is so powerful. Taking that moment’s notice to try and understand one’s perspective, regardless of its connection to our own – it can change an interaction entirely for both parties.

Keeping that mentality in mind, we arrived at the hotel that is undoubtedly breathtaking and unlike anything most of us have seen before. The edge of the property is met with the rushing Zambezi River, Victoria Falls’ mythic mist is in sight, and animals such as giraffes, zebras, and impalas roam the grounds. The buildings were similar to ones in America, appearance wise. Honestly, it would be safe to say that we felt a form of familiarity when we were there. However, after that initial wave of excitement and wide-eyed curiosity, a few of us began talking about how the hotel did not even feel like the Zambia we have come to know so far.

After that, it became clear that staying in this hotel would mean easy access to a bubble that prevented any relationships with local cultures, locations, and people that have quite literally made our entire journey what it is thus far. What then, is the purpose of this hotel? To me, it did not feel like it was for the purpose of our trip – standing in accompaniment with others in which we are equally growing and benefiting; serving in tandem.

Then I thought of the museum and the conversation with Charlie. Memory showed so much excitement that we are going to Zambezi, unlike many other tourists who come. This is not to “pat us on the back” by any means, but to show the reality of the practice American tourism. It’s disappointing that it is not expected for Americans to want to know the culture, to want to immerse ourselves. And that disappointment is only amplified when asking Charlie if he experiences rude Americans often, and his answer is “yes.”

Our time here so far has introduced us to so many thoughts and emotions, but I feel that today has been the first day we’ve had to genuinely and directly address the implications involved with traveling as Americans. The assumptions about us our valid, but how do we challenge them? How do we serve in tandem when the expectation is us wanting to be served? I’m excited to find the answers to these questions, to tackle all the challenges, and to grow with the experiences.

Kiso Mwane, Eva Palmer (’23)