Gonzaga-in-Zambezi

The education team with our friend Joshua who walks home with us from school each day.

The [Wo]man in the Arena

“It is not the critic who counts; not the [wo]man who points out how the strong [wo]man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the [wo]man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends [her]self in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if [s]he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that [her] place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

-Theodore Roosevelt

This last year of my life leading up to Zambezi felt like a boxing match, me vs. me, where I was ready to pronounce myself KO’d on multiple occasions. Broken, marred, and bloody, I somehow managed to lift myself back to my feet each time I fell and sometimes I couldn’t even get my hands up in front of my face before I was hit with the next punch of failure or shortcoming, sending me to the floor again. Somewhere amongst the self-loathing, pockets of depression, self doubt, numbness, and loneliness I lost pieces of myself that once seemed so innate. Relationships became distant. Apathy kicked in. I left my senior year feeling mediocre about my year and the direction I was headed. I was relieved to depart for Zambezi, to get out of the boxing arena, and give myself an adventure filled with new growth.

We are now 11 days into our journey, and I’ve been unable to escape the boxing arena. How naïve of me to think it would be that easy. Each morning as I finish my final bites of breakfast, the all-to-familiar fear and anxiety settle in as Anna, Lydia, Ethan and I prepare for our drive to Chilena Basic School where our grade 6 and 7 students await our storytelling lesson for the day. My chest clenches; hot tears swell deep behind my eyes in the place that I have learned to store them so well. My body feels out of sorts as I begin frantically running the lesson plan through my head. Start with the song. Then hand out journals. Then read the book. Wait…are we reading the book before or after we hand out journals?? You don’t even know what you’re doing. Why am I teaching? I don’t want to do this. I’ve never been one to enjoy running, but I’m convinced that my mind could beat Usain Bolt in a 100m sprint.

I just finished student teaching last semester and am now graduated with a B.A. in Mathematics and a teaching certificate, but I don’t know if I will ever be “ready” to teach. It still does not seem real to me that I could have my own classroom and be trusted with the lives of 150 students on a daily basis. I am hyper aware of my lack of experience, and if you ask any wise teacher, the limit of growth as a teacher does not exist. There is always new research, new methods, new theories to keep up on. I am left wondering how I will ever feel good enough in the profession or as though I am providing my students with the education they deserve.

“Who is important in your life?” I ask the grade 6 students as their eyes intently focus on Lydia and I in front of the dusty chalkboard at the front of the classroom. We received an array of responses–mother, father, grandmother, doctor, teacher–amongst a list of answers you would expect to hear. I walk to the second row on the right of the room full of creaky wooden desks and point at Edgar who is squeezed between two of his classmates on a shared bench. “What about Edgar? Why is Edgar important?” My question was met by a sea of perplexed looks on the faces of the other 45-plus students as they were caught off guard by my question. The moment of silence and no response was all too familiar from my student teaching days. But this time, I didn’t cringe. I stood tall in the discomfort.

Seated at the desk just behind Edgar, a girl slowly lifted her hand into the air as the corners of her mouth simultaneously lifted slowly into a soft smile. “To play with,” she answered softly. The class agreed with affirming nods, and I thanked her for her answer. I continued to scan the classroom to find another hand up in the front row, confident and firm. The kind of hand raise so full of eagerness that the student might burst if not called upon promptly. I point at the enthusiastic young boy just in time to relieve his anticipation and he answered with conviction, “Because Edgar is a person.” Wow. There was a prolonged pause as I scrambled to get on this student’s level. “YES,” I said as I grasped onto his profound answer. I pointed to 3 or 4 other students in the crowd one by one asking, “Is he important? Is she important?” with each prompt being answered with a firm and resounding “Yes!” from the class. We concluded together that all people are important, simply because they are people.

I have held this small, yet impactful moment in my heart and will cling to it as I step in front of the class tomorrow morning with the lovely Miss Lydia by my side remembering that our students, Lydia, and I are all important people just by being who we are. Again I will lift myself to my feet, eat my breakfast, hop in the back of the Land Cruiser, and step into the arena as Ms. Green.

All my love,

Morgan Green

Thank you to everyone who has left comments on posts! They keep us going and keep the tears flowing. Your words and love are so valuable.

P.S. Maddie, KP, Leigha, Moogs, Linds- Thank you for helping me get back in the arena again and again. I could not have done this year on my own. I miss and love you all dearly. I think of you all daily. I am guessing this first bit of post grad hasn’t been easy. Did you hear what the grade 6ers said? You are important. Stay green as you each start your new adventures.

P.P.S. Mom, Dad, P-man, and Bailey- Holding a special place in my heart for you all at Great Grandpa’s funeral today. Thanks for hanging in there on graduation/move out weekend. Thank you for all the things I never say thank you for. Bailey, I bet you are kicking butt at work. Can’t wait to hear about all of the things you are learning. Payton, finish 7th grade strong bud! Much love.

P.P.P.S. To any Ferris students who may read this, I miss you all! You too Charlie and Chad. You have brought so much joy into my life. I am so thankful for the time I got to spend with you! Enjoy the last month of school and I wish you all restful and adventurous summers.

Today I showered. I have showered a total of three times in the past eight days (sorry mom), so this was a pretty monumental event. It meant that my hair and feet were clean, and I was ready for the day ahead and whatever it threw at me. I love the feeling of kinda having a plan but still not really knowing what exactly is going to happen. It is exhilarating and is a feeling that I have missed in the past semester. As many of you know, I spent the whole of last year wandering (some may say stumbling) across the world during a study abroad semester that at some point turned into a year. I started off in Scotland, worked my way to Turkey (for a total of 17 days because of that whole military coup incident), and finished off my semester in Ghana. I never went home between programs, so I stuffed as much as I could into my backpack and just went exploring by myself until each of my programs started. It was an incredible experience that challenged me and shaped me in different ways almost every single day.

Once I came back though, something happened. After a while the joy of being back in the States faded. All of the sudden, I felt like I had this pit in my stomach and that I was missing something. I did not understand why I felt like this. I was technically home, with my own bed, with my family and friends, and had all the Hot Cheetos and yellow Gatorade I could ever want. I was broken. I left a piece of me everywhere I went and when I got back to school, I started to feel the loss. All of the sudden my mind decided to process a year’s worth of experiences, good and bad, and I felt lost in a place that was supposed to be my home. As the semester went on, things got better, but there was never a day where I did not think about my time away, the experiences I had, and the people I met. I felt alone and frustrated because there was nothing I could do to make the feeling go away other than to push the thoughts away in order to try and be present in what was happening around me at Gonzaga. However, every night, the memories flooded back into my mind, and I was forced to think and come to terms with my experiences and accept that they all really did happen, and that it was okay that I was back. I had the year of my life, and I had to move forward in order to create more incredible memories. The experiences and the people I met changed my life, and I will always recognize that. I need to accept this feeling of brokenness and challenge myself to use it as fuel to make me feel whole again. It has been a journey, but as the semester started to wind down, I did start to feel whole again.

You could probably guess the hesitation I felt when I dusted off my backpack and started to pack for Zambia. I was scared that I was going to break myself all over again, but I was also so excited. I was going on another adventure and had no idea what was going to happen, who I was going to meet, and how I was going to be challenged. Within that excitement I was also afraid that I was going to close myself off because of the feelings I know I will have once I get back. So far Zambia has been good to me. I have laughed, have had some pretty solid doxycycline dreams, and have enjoyed exploring this place that feels so familiar. My heart has been feeling full, and my fears of being broken again were pushed to the back of my mind. Something strange happened during our homestay though that challenged me more than I expected. When we were playing outside with Daniel’s daughters, Natasha (the sassiest two-year-old you will ever meet) gave me a coin to hold in my pocket for later. When later came, she asked for the Kwacha coin, and when I reached for it, I also pulled out something else that I never expected to have in my pocket. I pulled out a 20 Cedi note (Ghanaian currency) and all of the sudden I was overwhelmed with joyful memories.

I started to think about my time thus far in Zambia, and how I have felt so at home because it reminds me of all the great memories I had last year, especially the memories I made in Ghana. The welcome we got once we arrived in Zambezi reminds me of the huge hug Auntie Theresa gave me when I finally arrived to where I would be staying in Ghana. Sitting at the big dinner table for every meal reminds me of those red tables in ISH1 where we would gather for every meal and laugh at the complex stories Dwight would come up with to keep us entertained and to explain the things that we did not understand. Waking up when the sun comes up and going to bed after the sun goes down reminds me of how I would stretch my days into the night as much as I could, just to make sure I saw and did everything I needed to see and do. Sitting in the common room in silence reminds me of all the times that Karmen and Dwight would come into room 85 to just sit with me and Trevor (Trevà) just because the silent company was always welcome. All of the conversations remind me of all the conversations that I had with complete strangers who soon became close friends. I feel so connected to those memories, even though they are so far away.

It is strange to feel nostalgic in a place that you have never been before. Zambia has reminded me of a lot of the joys I felt in my heart last year. The other night we watched a TED talk about the importance of having multiple stories to see the full picture. This resonated with me because I think it is so important for me to acknowledge and accept that I am processing Zambezi with all of my stories and experiences, and that it is okay for me to do that. Although I will probably never feel fully complete, I am happy to give another piece of myself to stay here in Zambezi. My old experiences are allowing me to cherish my current experiences because I know that this month is going to fly by in the blink of an eye, and when we look back on it in July, it is going to seem like this month was just a dream.

Now I am sitting in the common area with my dirty feet, my hair in some chaotic mess on the top of my head, and a big smile on my face. I am so glad I have been given this opportunity to have a full heart again. Given the chaos and pressures that come with being a senior and running into the adult world, I am not really sure when I will get the chance to do this again. I do not really know how I will move forward with all of my broken pieces, but I do not think that there is a perfectly right way to do it anymore. I just got to feel it out and see what works in the moment that I am in. I’m pretty good at figuring out things along the way anyway.

Cheers!

Lydia Lopez

Class of 2018

P.S. Karmen, Trevor, Dwight and the rest of the Ghana fam. I have shed quite a few tears thinking about how much I would love for you guys to be experiencing this with me. This is a big deal since you know I don’t cry often. It is so incredible. I hear your nagging and loving voices in the back of my head often and it makes me laugh. It makes me look pretty crazy when I am laughing to myself when nobody else is around. I love you all so much.

P.P.S. There is a bug in the living room that is bigger than the lizard that is on the wall. I don’t like this situation. It is kinda like animal planet and I have no idea how this will unfold.

P.P.P.S. Shoutout to my family, especially my mothership and father for loving me, especially when I tell them that I am going on another trip across the Atlantic after only being home for a few days. Los quiero mucho. Happy early birthday Tina.

So it has officially been a week. One week filled with laughter, hospitality, bug bites, singing, learning, butt-pinching chairs, and, most of all, an over abundance of taco seasoning. I must admit, I never really understood the saying “the days feel long but the weeks feel short”. However, after these last few days, I can see it starting to resonate with me more and more. It feels like yesterday I was sitting anxiously in the SeaTac airport ready to embark on this journey.

Zags arrive in Zambia with Father Dominic, our escort through Lusaka.

I can remember everything so vividly, except maybe that one time I apparently fainted within the first hour of our flight to Dubai. (Don’t worry, mom. I’m fine… really!) Over the course of last semester, people would come up to me asking if I was ready to go to Zambia. I would say, “Yes!” very excitedly except it never felt so real until the moment when we watched our first sunset in Zambezi. I have seen many beautiful sunsets in my life; however, that first one across the Zambezi River was incomparable to the rest. I stood and watched the sun slowly sink into what seemed like an infinite horizon as my new young friends, Keith and Sombo, held both my hands.

In some ways, time here is like an African sunset. You look out into the distance and take it all in. After a few moments you then start to wonder when the sun is actually going to set. You’ll then feel a small tug on your hand and start to engage in the little chatter. Then you look back up and the sun has almost completely vanished and you start to wonder how it slipped away from the sky that quickly.

Sunset over Zambezi River
PC Easy Money (Elly Zykan)

Time here is similar in this sense. Between the teaching, running down to the market, conversing with so many new people, and trying to find time to reflect, I’ll often find myself feeling lost within the day. The moment from when I wake up and go to bed seems much more distant in Zambezi than when I am at home. However, with this being said I woke up today and was able to look back on this week as a whirlwind of events.

I think the combination of these two feelings causes me perceive time here as quickly moving, yet so still. There are many moments that I know will pass by in a few quick beats, yet I desperately want them to remain imperishable in my mind.

Last Saturday Mckenzie and I got to stay overnight with Janet, a Zambian woman who welcomed us into her little concrete house with the most open arms. As we sat down and ate nshima, chicken, and what seemed to be some fish puree (sorry again mom, I will still never like fish) on the floor of Janet’s living room with her family, I thought to myself and wondered when the next time I will be able to experience this again.

This past week, I have found myself having many of these moments. There are times when Keith and Sombo, along with other kids, will laugh at me when I completely butcher a word or saying in their beautiful tribal language of Luvale. I want to remember these laughs five years from now with the same clarity as today. I want to remember Mama Violet’s enchantingly raspy voice, the games that Zambian kids will show us, the sweet taste of a small banana, the chanting of “chindele” by the children, the deep contemplation of which chintenge to buy, the lively celebrations I can hear outside my window each night as I go to bed, the beat of the drums during church, and the insurmountable joy everyone gets when another victim falls to the butt-pinching chair. I want to remember all these ordinary moments just like the seemingly infinite horizon that lies across the Zambezi River. If this is what the first week has brought me, then I can’t express in words how eager I am to see how these next three weeks unfold before us. Stay tuned, I can assure you that it’ll be quite a story to tell after the long days and short weeks here in Zambia come to an end.

Valerie Fetzer

Class of 2020

P.S. Happy early birthday to you Mom! I love you more than you know and am sorry I won’t be there to celebrate but I can assure you that I’ll be bearing some super cool gifts from Zambezi when I see you. Good luck to you and Kurt as you move out of the house. Can’t say I’m too bummed to miss out on all the fun unpacking but nonetheless I wish you guys the best. I hope you enjoy your last few weeks in “The Creek” and be sure to eat a Morrucci’s sandwich for me.

P.S.S. Don’t worry I didn’t forget you and everyone else Dad. I love you guys too and miss you so so much. I see both James and Logan in many of the kids here. (Except I haven’t come across a kid who is as crazy as Logan although I have come close a few times).

P.S.S.S. To the people who know who they are, thank you for supporting me through it all and always making me laugh. I carry that same laughter here and miss you all very much and cannot wait to be able tell more stories.

Goodnight, I’m really tired.

Zambezi Sunset

Where do I start? In the past few days I’ve laughed, cried, made new friends, learned a new language, held my friends while they cried, taught a computer class, made nshima. Hell, in the past few hours I’ve bought Chitenge, danced, laughed, had an anxiety attack, listened to John Mayer, and dabbed. Life is moving at an extraordinary rate, but at the same time it seems to be almost still. While eating dinner a few hours ago, I felt enjoyably peaceful. There was no pressure or rush to do anything except tally up Surprise Butt Pinch’s attacks (context later). Perhaps this is the Magic of Africa Shakira so fondly talks of in her song Waka Waka (This Time for Africa).

If you ever want to feel incompetent, hang out with an African family for a day. Two days ago we all went to homestays with various families throughout Zambezi and mine sure was humbling. As soon as we got there Morgan Green and I started watering the family’s garden with the brother of our homestay mom, Vernon. After finishing, we gathered on the porch to make dinner. They had set up two outdoor charcoal stoves that we used to prepare, among other things, nshima (SHEE-muh) – a thick corn mush that the Zambians use to scoop up and eat their food. You start with boiling water and a few scoops of corn meal, and then begin stirring. Morgan and I were feeling pretty good about ourselves, stirring and scooping at our leisure, but when the water boiled, ohhhh when the water boiled, our character was tested. A one hand casual flick of the wooden spoon turned into a two handed mêlée with this corn meal beast. Grunts and snorts evacuated our body. As the children suppressed their laughter and mom frantically tried to reassure us, Shelly, the 13 year old wonder woman, ripped the spoon out of my hand and, full savage status activated, grabbed the red-hot pot with one hand and whipped the nshima with the other. Upon this display of pure authority and force you can’t help but feel useless. The next morning we had a similar experience as Shelly cleaned three dishes for every one of Morgan’s and mine. Shelly is the real MVP of Zambezi.

I think jet lag and post mono is hitting me in full force. I’ve slept three nights in a row in my day clothes and Chacos because by bedtime I’ve been so tired I didn’t care to take my shoes off, let alone change into something more comfortable. This was no different at my homestay. I’ve never been in such a new and stimulating experience before and physically not been able to stay awake. As we sat and made food and talked about our respective cultures with our homestay family I could not for the life of me keep my eyes open. I was mixing “Yes’s” and “Mmmhmm’s” with bouts of falling off my chair. It’s a miracle no one noticed because I imagined I looked drunk. I guess I held it together though because Shelly never intervened. The only comment I got was one from Morgan just before bed when she told me she was wondering why I suddenly stopped talking for 30 minutes.

Despite the fights with nshima and struggles to stay conscious I managed to have lovely time at my homestay. I was blessed with a beautiful family and a mom and dad who seemed to love us as much as they love their family and their culture. I have never been welcomed into a home so graciously and lovingly (except maybe my own home, mom you have stiff competition). A sign of hospitality in Zambia is to kill a village chicken and prepare it for your guests who come to dinner and they did this for us. As explained by my homestay mom, this is done for important guests so knowing that they did that for us made me feel very loved. We talked into the wee hours of the night as we gathered in the living room and de-kernelled the corn for tomorrow’s nshima. Previously mentioned Vernon and up and coming Zambezi rapper collaborated with Jimmy Mac as we tandem beat boxed and rapped. I learned lots about their culture and their politics and they were ever so full of questions for us. I felt a part of their family and a part of their culture and leaving the next morning was like leaving my cousin’s house when I was five years old. I will be visiting my homestay a lot during my three weeks here.

I could go on and on about all the experiences I have had recently and the trials and tribulations I have faced, but I simply will not write a 2000 word blog while falling asleep. Zambezi is a place full of immense joy and love amidst much pain. I hurt for myself who is so desperately trying to open my heart up to the people around me and I rejoice in the love and friendship the Zambians have shown me. I am in a beautiful place with beautiful people and beautiful friends to experience it with. A cracked chair that pinches your butt cheeks as you sit in it (aka Surprise Butt Pinch) has become a joke and lasting memory because of the joy my friends insist on showing around me. The tears will continue to flow and the love will continue to be poured out because we are in a good place, a place that I already know I will love and cherish until the day I die.

P.S. Love you mom and dad and all my fam bam hope you’re kicking some serious a$# over in America. I miss my dogs.

Me at my homestay with baby Grace

Morgan vs. Nshima

Fr. Baraza asked me the other night at supper if I forgot that we were in Africa. While these days somehow manage to be both never-ending and over before they seem to begin, my answer was “Yes, Fr. B. It is difficult to believe we are finally in Zambezi” and tomorrow we begin teaching classes. Many of us still question if we are qualified to teach.

Within our first few steps off the plane, we were greeted by Jesse and the Chilenga Basic School Choir. Within a couple more steps came John, the church elder, who coordinated much of our arrival, and countless others whose names have already escaped me. Along the walk to the convent that has quickly become home, we were greeted by numerous townspeople. Once inside the chain-link fence that marks the beginning of our home, we found first the smells of lunch being prepared by Mama Violet and Mama Katendi along with the sounds of Gilbert making last-minute preparations for our stay. After practicing our best, almost nonexistent, Lunda greetings and introducing ourselves to each of the individuals, I overheard Josh quietly remark, “It really does take a village to bring Gonzaga to Zambezi.”

Zambezi road waiting to be explored…

Over the next two days as we explored and met more community members, I have begun to see all that Zambezi is doing to truly make this place a home for each of us.

After rounds of singing and a little dancing during this morning’s much anticipated mass, we were reminded of the way Socrates divides people—those who watch things happen, those who are oblivious to what is happening around them, and those who make things happen. From the excitement of the community members and children who accompany us as we journey out into Zambezi to the hours of work our host Mama’s put into cooking us a “truly Zambian” meal to the Mamas in our own home and even to our own faculty, I am surrounded by and in awe of those who make things happen here.

And as I think to my own place in this community, I find myself wedged in a space between stopping, observing, and watching things happen around me and jumping in, creating relationships, and making things happen. I have found I am not completely comfortable with either just yet. In front of me is Zambezi, which does not need me to do anything or need anything from me. Beside me I have the mindset many Zags carry close to us at home and at school. Make a difference. Get things done. Within me lies a tension between the two. Between being someone who observes the interactions between Zambians, forming questions and struggling with what I have observed, and finding my place to ask those questions and discover what it means for me to be a person who gets things done here.

Kisu Mwane,

Morgan Smith

Class of 2019

P.S. To Molly and Sam: Daniel and the Family (especially Shalome, Ester, Sepiso, Natasha, Mapilo, and new Baby Immaculate) say hello to their best friends in America and were happy to hear that you are both doing well! I can’t wait to talk with each of you about the unique experience of becoming a part of this family.

P.P.S Mama, Jim, Alexa, Cali, and Kirill, there are little things in Zambezi that remind me of you everyday. Mama, as the “be good bells” rang in church this morning I looked around at all the little kids surrounding us and felt you next to me. Lex, I could see you here walking with the kids from place to place and loving the women of the town. Give Bug a big hug for me!

America: The land of the free.

This is what my Zambian friend tells me anyway. As I stand in the stationary isle of a supermarket in Lusaka, I can’t help but feel uneasy when our Zambian friend, Dominic, tells us that he thinks the U.S. is the best country because of the freedom that people have. I look around at the six other faces in this circle that we have created in the middle of the isle, and I wonder if my peers feel the same uneasiness that I am feeling. Discomfort because I love my country, but there are also things that I deeply disagree with. Discomfort because I feel guilty for having these feeling about my own country, especially since I’m from a town that holds the flag high and celebrates American pride with a rodeo each year. Discomfort because even though I have these feelings, I typically choose not to acknowledge them. Discomfort because I am fortunate and live a privileged life in Spokane.

What are the odds that after Kelen and I had this conversation, we were the first two students to post on the blog? It must be meant to be. When I first heard that I would be the second student to write on the blog, my stomach dropped. Right away my mind went to thinking how in the heck am I supposed to write about everything we are experiencing right now, when I haven’t even had time to take a deep breath and let it sink in? Today is our fifth day on this journey, and I have not yet reached 6 p.m. without feeling absolutely wiped out. I don’t think it is because we are physically doing a lot (except we quickly found out that walking on the sandy roads is not as easy as Mama Katendi makes it look, as she is constantly having to stop to wait for us to catch up) but rather each day feels more like a mental and emotional roller coaster.

While on our two-hour flight from Lusaka to Zambezi yesterday, I felt a sense of freedom that I have never felt before. My limbs felt light, and I had this corny smile that I couldn’t wipe off my face. I felt so blissfully happy, but right away I noticed that I was trying to prepare myself for this feeling to wear away, because I thought it was too good to be true. This isn’t me. I have never been carefree or have had a simple life. Even as a child I was high maintenance and a burden to others. I still vividly remember those specific nights crying to my mom at the age of five, asking her if I will really just be gone once I die, or when I used to be so scared to sleep over at a friend’s houses because I wet the bed at an ungodly age. Not only can I still vividly relive each of those moments, but it is still something that I frequently hear from others. Worrier. High maintenance. The baby. Spoiled. I hear these words, and I don’t feel like they define who I am, but at some point I have internalized them because if others think it is true than they must be right. This has been a problem for me most of my life. I don’t trust myself and I am always trying to be someone different. Someone better. Those of you who didn’t know me as a kid are probably shocked to hear this. Most people now would describe me as confident, kind, and maybe a little wild. I have learned to be a master of hiding my emotions and only showing those that I think others approve of. I am constantly pushing myself to try new things and be adventurous because part of me thinks I am incapable and still doesn’t trust myself.
Yesterday Kelen, Elly, and I climbed to the top of a water tower while waiting for our bush plane to come pick us up. I first watched Kelen gracefully grab the slanted piece of metal and hoist her body up while quickly maneuvering to the ladder, which started about 8 feet up from the ground. I knew I wanted to try. I followed Kelen steps, almost to the ladder, but not nearly close enough to let go and try and reach up. I had somehow gotten my body in a position that did not feel natural, and I could not convince myself that I could make it up without falling and breaking something. I looked to my friends with panic on my face, half expecting them to tell me to give up and come down, but rather they encouraged me, trying to help talk me through different ways to reach the ladder. I paused, took a deep breath, told myself I could do it, and I went. The next thing I knew, I had reached the top. My stomach was fluttery, and I was out of breath from the excitement, but I did it. I reached the top, and I felt like enough.

As I am sitting on my bed under my mosquito net, listening to the rooster’s crow and children sing, I still am in disbelief that this is my life. Why me? How did I get this opportunity to be here in Zambezi to hear people’s stories and do life with them? When little Grace grabbed my hand yesterday and told me that she loved me and asked if I would be her friend, why did she pick me? Sometimes I wonder if I am still that anxious little girl trapped in her own body and mind–afraid of the world and incapable of achieving my dreams. But then I remember that I am just me, and that is good enough. Yes, there are times when I get anxious. Yes, there are times when I don’t feel like I am enough. Yes, there are times when I get upset… But there are so many other times when I feel just right. I am doing this life, and I am doing it big because I don’t want to miss out on an opportunity to smile and share a moment with someone.

Kisu Mwane,
Jessica Wilmes

Yesterday Jessica and I were walking to the bus at the Zambia Airport in the back of everyone else. I started a new conversation, expressing to Jess that I was considering asking Elly to start the wheel of jobs in a way where I would write the blog post in a few weeks. I didn’t feel called to write first (probably out of fear, honestly) and I was eager to say something about it. Jess expressed the same, but ultimately told me that my (our) time to write the blog post would come at the right time meant for us. So, hello. Here I am, writing the first student blog post of the trip.

Yesterday we flew to Lusaka from Dubai, exchanged our US dollars to kwacha, and saw the Gonzaga Chamber Choir rehearse a couple of performances with the Sacred Heart Choir. It was really neat to see both choirs in Lusaka. Their hearts were shared as they sang with great power throughout the church. The echoes of their voices and smiles on their faces brought tears to my eyes. Jimmy sang with the choir for one of the songs. He had the biggest smile on his face. That made me emotional too. As the choirs sang together, I witnessed togetherness between my home in Spokane and my new home here in Zambezi. Well, it wasn’t Zambezi being represented in song, but still, Zambia – another community and culture different than my own. I saw that connectedness and love could be shared so easily through sharing oneself with others. I must do this now, too.

I woke up at 4:30 this morning with Mogan and Mack in the Flying Missions Guesthouse. LeBrun and Jimmy were already up – we’ve been a bunch of early risers so far. Three bush planes left as the sun was rising. I, along with eight others were scheduled to leave at noon once two planes had returned from the morning flights. We watched the three planes take off this morning. The planes were a lot smaller than I thought they were going to be.

Our group watches the sunrise as they wait for their 6am departure to Zambezi.

After the morning group had left for Zambezi, Jess, Elly, and I climbed the water tower right near where the planes takeoff. This is when I have felt most myself on the trip so far – when I was climbing. In climbing pretty consistently this past year, this morning I lead the climb confidently. Danger, risk, and the unknown were nowhere on my mind as I reached the top.   It was awesome.

Jess and I on top of the waterpower – great photo skills, Elly!

I wouldn’t say I feel in danger, but I have been thinking of risk and the unknown a lot while being here in Zambezi. I fear it. I wonder if my interactions and experience here will feel as easy, liberating, and affirming as climbing did. As I got out of the bush plane, children swarmed to greet me. Quite ruthless, they fought over my hands and arms. I was silent almost all of this time. I want to be louder, or at least, comfortable with the idea of being louder if I desire to be.

Father Baraza has shared an African Proverb with me four times now. It goes like this: Every morning in Africa a Giselle wakes up. It knows it has to run so fast; otherwise it will become the food of somebody. Every morning a lion wakes up and knows that it has to run so fast, otherwise it will die of starvation. And in this case it is not a question of if it is the Giselle or the lion. The fact is that when morning comes, you better start running.

With dirt on my feet, I am ready to run.

Kisu Mwane,

Kelen Ahearn

Class of 2019

P.S. We are all safe, sound, and doing well here in Zambezi. I am really excited to experience these next weeks with everyone.

P.P.S. Mom, Dad, Lauren, Erin, and Sean, I hope you are all doing well! I am thinking of you often and am already very excited to share the stories behind the pictures I already have of being only a couple days away. Erin, enjoy every moment of your confirmation weekend – I will be praying for you as you begin another chapter of your spiritual journey. Lauren, congrats on almost being done with finals! Enjoy your last moments at HNA, prom, and graduation. I will be thinking of you this coming week a whole lot. Sean, best of luck as you finalize your role in the play and perform soon. Break a leg! Mom and Dad, thank you for everything, I am so thankful for you. Enjoy all of the celebrations coming soon. I love you all and cannot wait to hear how you are doing. #soon6again

P.P.S. I think everyone is sleeping in the convent right now. I can hear celebration, drums, yelling, song, and voices in the distance. I just got a very strong urge for a dance party. Until next time!

Some kind of chicken dish, a snack of apples, pears and chocolate bars, cheese pizza, and an omelet later, Gonzaga-in-Zambezi students and faculty arrived in Dubai in the United Arab Emirates. On this first leg of our journey—a 14.5-hour flight—we ate, chatted, watched on our individual screens the Academy Award-winning hearbreaker “Lion” (except for Jimmy, who apparently didn’t get the message), and tried to sleep—some of us with more luck than others.

Upon arrival, we made our way smoothly through customs and to the hotel, where we ate—yes, again—and dropped off our luggage prior to boarding a bus with “Sammy,” our cheerful, storytelling guide, for a five-hour tour of this fascinating Middle Eastern city.

Sammy told us that Dubai is only 20 years old. Evidence of the city’s newness could be seen in the countless enormous cranes standing beside the partially built high rises. The massive, citywide construction was at a standstill during the heat of the day. Most of the work, Sammy said, happened at night.

As we rode around in the mercifully air-conditioned tour bus, Sammy pointed out landmarks—the only seven-star hotel in the world, the biggest shopping mall in the world with 1,200 shops, 800 restaurants, and the largest aquarium (for a mall—a somewhat dubious distinction), the second tallest building in the world with plans to build the tallest. Some of the new construction is fashioned after famous places in other big cities. Dubai has a twin replica of the Chrysler Building. A leaning tower of Pisa. A half-built London Eye.

As Sammy spoke, most of us couldn’t help but wonder about the soul of a city born of quick money from oil slated to disappear in 20 years’ time. Our country’s future, Sammy said, is not in oil but in tourism. While many of us puzzled about the building boom that seemed to be, literally and figuratively, propped up on a sandy, instable future, we were simultaneously charmed by Sammy. His stories about his faith and marriage, the UAE royal family, and the history of the region helped humanize a place most of us little understand and, too often, tend to fear or, at the least, avoid.

We reflected that night on our day well spent. We were exhausted and excited. Tomorrow we fly to Lusaka—one day away from our temporary home in Zambezi.

Kris Morehouse, Communication faculty

Today, the Gonzaga-in-Zambezi 2017 team was joined by past Zambezi alumni and the Gonzaga Choir (also traveling to Zambia in May) for a “missioning” service.

Through poems, prayers, reflections, and song, the theme was clear — we are sending Zags to Zambia to build relationships and practice accompaniment.  There are incredible opportunities for growth when you allow yourself to be vulnerable with the people you are serving and working alongside.  For the past eleven years, Gonzaga students have found these moments in the rural and remote town of Zambezi, Zambia.  As Father Baraza said, it is now time to start running toward this growth.

Katie Barger (Zambezi ’16, Gonzaga Accounting ’18) was asked to provide a reflection for this missioning service and I believe her wise words provide encouragement and challenge for the journey ahead.

Katie Barger

“To my old friends, new friends, and fellow Zambaes,

In 7 days you will all get on a plane en route to Zambia, whether that be with the Gonzaga in Zambezi group or our wonderful choir. I can imagine there is probably lots of nervousness, curiosity, excitement, and fear floating about. If you are freaking out a little right now, I understand. I remember anxiously waiting in the line to check my bag at the Seattle airport, looking around at my friends, who would soon become family, only to realize that I was the only one not wearing my Chacos on the plane. I had a minor panic attack. I frantically opened my carefully packed 24.9 pound bag, found my Chacos, slipped them over my white socks, and nervously put my tennis shoes in my bag, hoping that this last-minute switch wouldn’t put my bag overweight and cause our bush plane to crash in the middle of rural Zambia the next day. So, speaking from a girl who thought her world was ending because she wore the wrong shoes on the plane, just know that I get it. However, in an attempt to ease your mind, maybe just a little, I would like to offer some words of advice and hope as you embark on your journey.

1. Just because everyone else wears their chacos on the plane doesn’t mean you should too. I promise your feet will not fit back your the straps when you land.
2. Bring at least 2 more pairs of underwear than you think you need. I promise you really can’t go wrong here.
3. Ask the Mamas lots of questions. You will find that they are the greatest sources of wisdom in Zambia.
4. Name the spiders. It makes them a little less scary.
5. Enjoy your classes, or choir performances, and talking with students. Don’t stress too much about following your curriculum or schedule. Trust yourself and your team.
6. Go on lots of walks. It is a great way to check-in with each other and learn more about Zambezi, or other places you might find yourself in.
7. Practice your luvale and lunda with the kids. They will love teaching you new words!
8. Explore the market. You will meet some amazing friends there.
9. Become familiar with “Zambia Time,” which means almost nothing will start on schedule. Use this extra quiet space while you wait for people, to reflect, journal, or practice your singing, whether that be for a performance or for Mama Josephine.
10. Give yourself the grace to feel frustrated, mad, or sad. It going to happen, and that’s okay. This is part of learning.
11. Be present and intentional with those around you. Keep your eyes, ears, and heart wide open.
12. When you say a word wrong, or don’t know what to do in a situation, remember the Zambian Proverb “Even monkeys fall out of trees sometimes,” and lean into your failures. Support one another.
13. Watch as many sunrises and sunsets as you can. They are truly magnificent.
14. If you ever get invited to a Zambian Wedding, to go see your friend’s recording studio, or to meet your friend’s friend’s 10 day old baby, always accept. Just say yes.

But especially, my greatest hope for you all that you let yourselves love and be loved. I hope that you come to love Zambia as a new home, or rather as a home you’ve finally met. Not because it’s perfect. Not because of all the incredible experiences you all will share, but because you come to know it for all its parts; good and bad, beautiful and broken, just as you will come to know one another, and just as you know yourself. I say this with caution because I think we all know that you can’t hope to learn everything about a town or even a person in one month, but a relationship isn’t confined to a month, it is forever developing, changing, and always has the potential to grow. I was looking back in my journal the other day, and ironically, I didn’t finish my last entry. The last sentence I wrote was “I know this journey is far from over. It is,” and then I guess I must have fallen asleep that night. But I think that is what my trip to Zambia means to me. It simply is with me everywhere I go now. It is in the newfound confidence I have when I walk in my chacos. It is in the sunshine I see as I remember singing about its beauty with my friend Glory. It is in my dreams of pursuing education one day because of the joy and power I found in simultaneously learning and teaching in Zambia. It is in the gratitude I have for one hour masses here in the States, but also in the longing I have to burst out in vivacious song and dance during every slowly sung hymn. It is in the greater strength I now feel when I use my voice as I am reminded of Jessy, Helen, and all the Mamas. It is in my left ankle that mysteriously decided to swell one night in Dipalata, and is still larger than the other to this day. It is in the frustration I feel when others talk about people in Africa as disempowered and perpetuate stereotypes, as well as in the continued empathy I feel for their lack of understanding. It is in my deepened desire to ask tough questions, listen to the stories of those who are different from me, and the curiosity I have to discover our universal humanity. Zambezi has woven its stories into the threads of my being and continues to so in new ways, and in new patterns of its beautiful chitenge. I wish you all the courage to let Zambia and one another do the same for you. Kisu Mwane, my friends.   -Katie Barger”

We are flying out next Tuesday, May 16 — we hope that you will follow along in this blog as we discover what Zambezi has to teach us.

Dr. Joshua & the Zags in Zambezi ’17