Gonzaga-in-Zambezi

Over the past year, I have been grappling with what it means to be human. Often, the difference between my own privilege and the struggles faced by a large portion of the world have fueled confusion and uncertainty about what it means to experience life from a human perspective. In this process, I have started to believe that the way in which I interact with life is not inherently human. I have begun to try and understand that much of the world lives in conditions far different from my own, and my unique experiences reflect a privilege I cannot begin to understand. Due to consistent reflection on this topic, I have begun to pay more attention to the vast inequalities that can be uncovered and exposed anywhere one looks. Many people are consistently silenced, oppressed, displaced—in need of real, present, active change. This concept has been guiding my perspective for what it means to be human.

However, this exploration happened solely in Spokane and in the confines on my own mind. From my bedroom, classrooms, and long processing walks, I tried to understand that much of the world lives in conditions far different from my own.

I lacked experience.

I cannot pinpoint why I decided to come to Zambia. However, I am inclined to believe that I came on this trip to discover a little more what it means to be human, to test if my working hypothesis was correct. Perhaps I was seeking to live in a community that contrasted my own in order to have a wider interpretation of what the reality of the human experience is.

It seems selfish to think that I decided to come for my own experience. After all, what entitles me to think that my own experiences are worth the sacrifice and efforts of individuals in a community I do not even know. I would like to believe that I did not come to help along the lines of saviorism. After all, Zambians do not need my help, and my days are structured far more around learning than anything I can bring. Alas, I settled on trust that I came to accompany. Yet this abstract conclusion still troubled me as to why I would think that Zambians seek my accompaniment, and what does that even mean?

In reality, my motivation for my journey here is still unknown, but I am beginning to construct some possible reasons as to why, in this moment, my being is present.

Upon my arrival to Zambezi, I discovered I did not even know what it meant to accompany somebody. Quickly I discovered that I am here to learn how to accompany, rather than distribute my accompaniment among all the people I meet. During our market scavenger hunt, Wendy taught us accompaniment as she closed her shop to help us look for lemons. I learned accompaniment when Caroline made me stop and take a breath after I face planted on one of our morning runs. Albertina taught me accompaniment as she giggled at my inability to stir the pot of nshima while her neighbors danced in the kitchen. Mabel taught me accompaniment as she gave me feedback on our lesson when walking home from the market. Accompaniment means having your eyes, your soul, your being oriented toward the present, a lesson that radically changes my orientation toward the future.

Accompaniment is not the only expectation I had for this experience. I also anticipated a great deal of difference. My working definition of human experience caused me to anticipate feeling like life in Zambezi would feel like living on another planet, yet my time has felt comfortable. Even more, the first few weeks have felt strikingly human.

Human.

Not the differences in our ability to meet our needs, but the essence of what it means to truly experience life.

At the very beginning of the trip, Jeff told us to remember that Zambians are humans too. This fact seems obvious. How could I be so entitled to look over the humanity of the community I have been welcomed into? Despite the seemingly elementary nature of this statement, its implications have guided me on how to interact with the people I meet. Humanizing on a community level can mean an understanding that there are varying roles, personalities, interactions, and voices present. Just as I interact with my Spokane communities, I see the same variety of individuals in Zambezi. The people are comfortable, familiar, and connected to those in my life who they will never meet. I began to see Zambezi as a place I can be a part of rather than one I simply observe.

On a personal and individual level, once again, both Zambians and zags are humans. In “Come to the Table: Five Values for the Global Citizen,” Aaron Ausland writes,

              To sit at the communion able is to realize our share in the human condition. We may

be better positioned to have some of our needs met, but our neediness allots us

equality to those we serve.

Upon reading this, I found these words to be a guide on my journey of discovering what it means to be human. These words offered a new perspective for how humanity can acknowledge difference (in our ability to meet our needs, for example) yet focus on our shared humanity.

Zambians are humans too.

As long as we are united in our humanity, our needs come together to form a dependence on each other that transcends whatever differences we may hold.

I see profoundly human experiences when I spend the mornings observing in the hospital. The first day I was there, Kamy, Sloane, Ellie, and I were introduced to a patient in the men’s ward. As the doctor told us his list of health conditions, including heart failure, I saw him. On the outside, this man could have been just another individual I could meet in the market. On the inside, his body was working against him, and he shared the same vulnerabilities we all do as embodied beings. The doctor continued to explain that surgical care would require transport to Lusaka which would be a difficult and inaccessible task for this patient. As a result, their care is centered around prolonging the precious life of this man. We were united in our embodied nature, and the vulnerability of the situation. After meeting this patient, I started to see my family and friends in the other patients who I visit. One woman, who I see on a daily basis, comes to mind. When I am guiding her through her shoulder and hip mobility, I see her daughter and her caregivers and how my family could be in the exact same situation. Today, when treating this woman, Brudas, the physical therapist who I shadow at the hospital, told me that today I was the physical therapist and he was the learner. I enclosed my hand around hers and began the exercises. I am not sure what authority allowed me to be in such a vulnerable and delicate position. Perhaps my education, my loaned scrubs, my white skin. Likely a combination of culture or social dynamics I do not understand. Whatever the reason, it is a power I have not earned but a privilege I am grateful for. As I locked eyes with the patient and assisted her stretches, she taught me what it means to be human, what it means to share an experience, what it means to accompany someone. We did not need to speak the same language or share any words. However, I am confident that we had a mutual understanding of reality in that precise moment.

Like my position in the hospital, the lessons on humanity I have learned while being here, have never been earned. Nonetheless, they have been a new privilege I can be grateful for. Profound moments of raw humanity have continued to remind me that an overarching understanding of being human is centered around what we share as we orient ourselves to face the present rather than the future.

Humanity lives in the present moments where we allow our souls to connect.

Like Ausland says, we are united in our neediness, it is a part of being human, or maybe it is what makes us human after all. Maybe that is our experience.

I do not believe that humanity is only found in moments that necessitate complete reliance, but also in moments that are simply, so human. I often think of these moments as elementary behaviors that connect our souls. While I am sure there are cultural differences in provoking these moments, I have found striking similarities during the past few weeks.

Trash talking the Gabis during a semi-impromptu volleyball match felt “so human.”

Having deep conversations of significance while watching the stars feels “so human.” What feels even more human is taking breaks to gasp, point, and cheer when a shooting star crosses the sky.

Having the choir take over our singing performance at our first mass felt “so human.”

Dancing to music in Albertina’s living room felt “so human.” Even more human was that the speaker was massive, and the Bluetooth came from a flip phone.

Pretending to sleep while passing other rigs full of tourists on the safari felt “so human.”

Sometimes being human means joining in on the little moments that do not make a ton of sense. They have no other reason but to remind us of joy and reality that life does not have to be all serious.

These moments are “so human.”

As I continue to have fun human moments, I hope to see the true humanity in the people I am with. Although I have always known there is no simple way to sum up what it means to experience life through a human perspective, I am becoming more convinced that it is not our ability to meet our needs that defines our life, but the ways in which we experience humanity that connects our souls.

I hope to continue to experience humanity from a new perspective. I hope that I am challenged and that my working definition will continue to be complicated. After all, trying to define our whole experience of humanity is very likely in itself, “so human.”

Mom and dad, I miss you. Hearing the comments on the blog makes my day. Don’t worry though, I don’t miss you too much, and surely not any more than normal. Mom, I know you probably cry every time you read the blog, so maybe have somebody read it to you, but maybe not dad because it might be the longest thing he has ever read. Dad, I am sure you have played more rounds since your last comment. Doubling 15 and 16 on an even back is unfortunate considering those really shouldn’t be doubles. Say hi to Steven for me 🙂

To all the grandparents, I hope you figured out how to read the blog, and I am looking forward to some lunch gatherings soon.

Okay, that’s all…

Taylor Mularski
Class of ’26

I sat parallel to Kamy on a blanket spread across the ground in an unfamiliar home surrounded by walls of pink and purple. Together, we patiently cut the long red and black braids from Eunice’s hair and unbraided the remainder, carefully untying the knots which secured them close to the root of her hair. Before this, she entered the room with a hair pic and a pair of scissors and said, “I need your help.” While in the middle of this I thought about how much trust she had for two complete strangers, strangers who had no idea about this style and type of hair. Without any direction or guidance, she simply handed us the scissors and told us, “Don’t be afraid to cut, my hair is quite short.” Here we were, three women experiencing an intimate moment with someone we had only known for a few hours. Her trust and vulnerability spoke volumes to me. I thought about my own experience, would I ever let a “stranger” this close to me personally and allow them to be in control of something I cared deeply about?

This trip has taught me to see the good and to let go of control, simply allowing myself to trust. Being away in an unfamiliar place has created much worry for my anxious self, but seeing the oneness of many here dilutes the presumptive bad. If and when we all start believing in the good over presumptive negative, we become more welcoming and more accepting. After spending time in Eunice’s home, I couldn’t help but wonder—if roles were reversed—would I invite her into mine and allow her to help me? Or in a broader context, would our own country and communities be open and welcoming to a group of “strangers?”

Over the past few days there have been many ideas running through my head about what concepts and words to use to help me adequately express this experience and the thoughts I have gained from it. While I now know that is impossible, this quote from “The Voice of Those Who Sing,” written by Gregory J Boyle is a start. “Jesus, with God, imagined a circle of compassion and imagined no one standing outside of it. Yet, many do stand outside the circle. And so, it is outside the circle where Jesus chooses to situate himself…He stands with the leper, the outcast, the public sinner, … until the prevailing culture, which aggressively shames, humiliates and isolates the outcast – welcomes the outsider in.” I have felt myself creating outsiders from time to time, judging or being untrustful of those around me based on how I perceive them, and my hope is to push past this perception and to put the good first when I encounter something outside, “my normal.” Can’t we all implement the philosophy of open but aware, still understanding the possibility of difficulties but not to let that exclude us from a potentially beautiful connection with another human being? We are more unified than divided in most cases and should try to push past the “us vs. them” mentality.

Being here, experiencing Zambezi as an outsider, I see a shift from what I am used to as I observe community members trusting us with intimate details of their lives, trusting us with their families and most of all trusting us to share our knowledge with them. This community has allowed us to stand within their circle when sometimes it would just be easier to leave us standing outside of it, and for that I am incredibly grateful. In this place we have been one with others instead of simply for ourselves. After our community lessons the last few days, I have found myself in hour-long conversations with Chipego, Mabel, and Grace. These were conversations of trust, where we let our walls down and I heard many details that I doubt have been shared with many. In each of these situations I had such a sense of surprise and gratefulness that someone would be trusting me, a “stranger” with this information. My lasting thought from this is that we were not really “strangers” at all, just humans connected, but yet to meet.

In the spirit of trust, here is a list of times that we have had to trust each other and “strangers” over the past few days:

• All of us at the dinner table screaming last night, trusting Jeff and James to get the bat out of the convent.
  • Kamy and I trusting our motorcycle taxi driver to keep us alive on Saturday night, and Sloane and Sarah trusting in the same on Sunday morning.
• Trusting that our canoes would remain stable while crossing the Zambezi river.
• Trusting and truly experiencing life with our homestay families.
• Our sense of mutual trust between us and our community class members.
• The Zambezi Boarding English department trusting Caroline O., Becca and me assisting their classes even though we might be a… little… out of practice.
• Trusting each other with vulnerable conversations during reflection.
• Piper trusting children in the community to get her back to the convent safely.
• Prudence, a nurse at the hospital trusting Ellie to weigh newborns at the hospital and record their weights in official government documents.
• Kathleen trusting Mabel to provide a safe experience while taking her to braid her hair, and Mabel trusting Kathleen in her home.

While these are just a few experiences, beautiful things happen when we choose to see the good in one another and have a circle that invites all no matter the background. In Chipego’s (A student in the community English class) words, “We all have something to learn from one another and that’s what we need in this life.”

Mom and dad, I love you so much and can’t wait to share all these experiences with you. Thank you for your support and always pushing me to find joy and to step out of my comfort zone. There are no words to describe how blessed I feel to have had your influence all these years. Dad, I hope you had a great birthday and I’m looking forward to celebrating each of ours together when I am home. I am still living by your philosophy of, “Have a good time, try your best and do the right thing” and often find myself repeating it during the day. Mom, I miss talking and ranting with you about life and calling in the middle of the day. I so look forward to spending time with you when I get back. I love you guys.

Tyler, I miss you and I hope that you are having a good time with friends and family. I am so proud of you, your work ethic and connection with other people. I hope that you have a great graduation and celebrate a great accomplishment. Know I’m with you even from over here. All my love and can’t wait to see you soon <3

Summer, I hope you have a great time in Germany and I can’t wait to move into our house! Kori and Lauren, I miss you and am looking forward to summer adventures in Kansas City soon!

Alea Fowler
School of Education, Class of ‘27

As I have anxiously awaited my turn to write the blog and tried to predict the rotation so I can know when to prepare for it (lol), three words have found their home in my mind. Vulnerability. Welcomeness. Honor.

Vulnerability. As our time here has progressed three other classmates and I (Sloane, Taylor and Ellie) have had the opportunity to spend our mornings in the Zambezi District Hospital. Words can truly not express the amount of gratitude in my heart. As most may assume, things are run differently here. One moment from my time there replays in my head constantly and has redefined what vulnerability means to me. Our very first day there, Ellie and I got the opportunity to go into the theatre, otherwise known as the operating room in the US, to observe a hernia be removed. As we entered the room we were met with an 84-year-old man, naked, awake, laying on a bed with 2-2×4’s holding his arms up. He had a transverse cut in his pelvis region. Tears welled in my eyes, not from this new exposure to flesh but from my redefinition of what it means to be human; not because of the sound of his muscles ripping as they dug to access his hernia but because of the fact that I made eye contact with this man and knew that he was also experiencing this moment with me. Tears didn’t collect in my eyes because of the lack of resources they have at this hospital but because of the strength this man, this stranger, showed me. Tears not because I was witnessing internal organs being cut for the first time but tears because we were allowed in this moment of sheer vulnerability and exposure.

In edition to vulnerability, there are many times throughout our experience, we have been met with an unfathomable amount of welcome. Numerous times we have been reminded that “we are welcome” by any member of the community regardless of where we are: the market, the hospital, the local schools, the church, in people’s homes, and countless more. And even by this unnamed man, laying there, exposed and still welcoming. It calls for inner reflection. Anyone who knows me, knows I do not do well when I am A) hangry or B) tired, but compared to this 84 year old man, my problems of being hungry or tired are minuscule. Why can’t I be just an ounce as welcoming when I am in slight discomfort as this man is in as he’s in undoubtable pain? Why do we hold so much resistance to letting people in? Furthermore, letting people see us at our most vulnerable and weak moments? The weak moments are blinded by the immense amount of strength shining through as someone exposed themselves just as they are. We hold so much power when we can learn to show up just as we are and welcome others just as they are. So as this paragraph comes to an end, I call you, the reader, to reflect on where you hold residence in your heart when it comes to letting people see you, as you are and in your most vulnerable state? And why?

Thirdly, honor. Today (5/31) would have been my grandpa’s birthday, the first birthday without him. My Papa was a man of honor. He taught me everything I know about honor and respect. If anyone knows anything about Italian men, they would know that honoring their family is a primary responsibility. Blood means everything and it is of utmost disgrace to present any member of your family in a bad light or share what may being going on in the household. My papa excelled in this field. He never gossiped, he always showed up as a man of strength and faith, and he never shared our familial flaws with anyone, even if it would have been completely justifiable to do so. Here in Zambia, family is an extension beyond the people who live in your home. Here, we are called “sister” and invited to call the people we meet for the first time “grandma,” “mama,” and “cousin.” In Zambian culture, family isn’t defined by blood. In Zambian culture, they honor their family by honoring and welcoming any and everybody with open arms.

Now as I’m sure you all are anxiously anticipating… home stays!!

These three pillars have remained true. We spent our morning out on the vast Zambezi River crossing to the other side in canoes about the size of an enlarged tooth pick. Here we walked the tight rope between cultural and ancestral conflict between the two major tribes of Zambezi, the Lundas and Luvales. There we met an amazing man named Happy who gave us a lesson on Zambian fishing etiquette and often reminded us that, “experience is the best lesson.” On our trek back across the water, Jeff tried his best to subtly rock our canoe. Once we arrived at homestays we were paired up and from there we each had an individual experience. Alea and I were treated to the “real Zambian experience” as we navigated the market at night, wore matching chitenge, cooked nshima with our host family and ate very small fried fish, called kakea and a relish called rosella. At every point of the way, we were welcomed, well fed and comfortable. Our host mom was easy to talk to and we found ourselves laughing 90% of the time. We even got to FaceTime her family from other parts of the country! We found ourselves feeling at home in her house and finding lots of similarities to our own homes in the US. I can’t wait to continue to develop these relationships and get to know Eunice and her super adorable niece, Daisy, more!

To my family, I love you all so much and I hope things are running smoothly back home! Thank you for your endless support! I miss you tons and I can’t wait to share all my experiences with you! And to my brothers specifically, please remember to lock up the house before you go to bed lol! I will see you soon!

With a part of my heart forever here in Zambia,

Kamy Epefanio
Nursing, Class of ‘27

Humanity, a phrase which here means what one sees when they consider and treat another as a full and complete person.

The Enemy of the Good, a phrase ascribed to perfection (in a quote I can’t remember the author of).

If you know me, you’ll know I have had a long road of struggling to be perfect. Since early in elementary school, I’ve been worried about getting impeccable grades, impressing my parents, standing out amidst my peers. I constantly worry about people perceiving me as on top of things, as completely competent and skilled and able to handle things.

But the problem with being concerned about perfection is, as the quote implies, one ignores or disregards anything that might not quite be perfect, but is still good. As Ellie and I agreed during our group reflection last night, we often struggle with expressing anything during complex discussions because we don’t have something to say that is perfectly complete, polished, or profound. Usually outgoing and talkative, we find this fear of saying something imperfect in a discussion insurmountable, and embarrassingly so.

As is often the crutch in many a CLP class, we preface our ideas with the phrase “half-baked” — meaning that our ideas might not be fully fleshed out or perfectly articulated, but they might worth sharing for the good that they can still add to the discussion. So, like Piper stated beautifully in her post two days ago, this blog entry won’t be perfect. We’ll call it half-baked, or partly boiled, or still slightly raw like Becca and Sloane’s (delicious) pancakes this morning.

So let’s start by dismantling my air of perfection and admit that, over the past couple of days, I’ve come to realize that, in various ways, I haven’t been fully humanizing the people of our new Zambezi community. And by that, I mean that my relationship with various Zambians hasn’t truly reflected the relationship between human beings on a neutral playing field.

Something I admire about Jeff is how authentically he interacts with Zambians. And by that, I mean he treats people here like he would anyone else: the same sarcasm, the same directness, the same tolerance of elephant shit (approximately none). The other day, Natalie and I — subject to a miscommunication — sat in on a church choir rehearsal sung entirely in Lunda and Luvale (the main local languages), and we didn’t know anyone. Though we didn’t get to play guitar and drums as expected, it was really lovely to witness their practice — they’re incredibly talented, but it was just as beautiful to hear them mess up and make mistakes and rehearse again and again. But in between songs, I caught whispered chuckles and hushed comments about chindeles (a term for white folks that is derogatory about 50% of the time). As Jeff and I watched pasta water boil (never a good idea), I broached the subject. He said in similar instances that he’ll often just call someone out and ask if they’re talking about him. And usually, they’ll smile sheepishly and laugh. And then suddenly, the barrier between seeing each other as real human beings — not as attractions or as conveyers of some mystical culture — is broken. Because when you think about it, if anyone started muttering under their breath in front of you, you’d call them out too! So why is it that a different language and a different culture would stop me from making the same human conversation I would make in America?

Some of us have the honor of waking up at the crack of dawn (roosters actually say “cock-a-doodle-doo,” FYI) to race down the road in our trusty Land Cruiser to Chileña Primary School. We help out in the younger classrooms — or, in Kathleen’s case, we’re immediately left alone with two dozen preschool students who speak about five words in English. Natalie and I work with first grade students, who also have a low proficiency in English, met by our even lower proficiency in Lunda. Thus far we’ve helped Madame Akufuna teach three letters over the course of six hours — but best believe these kids can handle any ssspoon, wwwuna (mushroom in Lunda), or caaat that comes their way. But it always takes Natalie and I by surprise when our teacher yells “Noise out, I will beat you!” and waves whichever large yardstick she’s chosen for the day. Our group had a conversation yesterday about our struggles knowing when to address words and behaviors that feel unacceptable — because we know that the culture is different, and that it’s far from our place to waltz into the school and impose our “morally superior” American norms. But, though undoubtedly complex, there’s a way to recognize that some perspectives are based entirely on experience and culture — yet, they can still spark a difficult and compassionate conversation. What someone believes might make perfect sense in context, but it doesn’t mean you can’t have a conversation that disagrees with that opinion. And as Lucia, ever insightful, said last night: someone’s perspective being justifiable certainly doesn’t mean you have to be comfortable with it. Further, bringing up these moments of discomfort with the offending parties is a way to humanize these people we are getting to know — because that’s what you would do with a good friend too. A real connection isn’t supposed to be one in which all perspectives go unchallenged. A real friendship should be able to endure directness and difference in complex thinking. And these conversations won’t be perfect, but that’s perhaps why they’re so meaningful — and the good that can result from them shouldn’t be avoided because of fears of imperfect execution. It’s about creating a human conversation, not an inarguable defense of a moral judgment.

Perhaps my best example of fully recognizing humanity happened during our Adult English classes. One of Alea’s and my students, Rickson, honestly doesn’t need to be taking the class — so much so that he directly called us out after the first day, saying it was too easy and irrelevant, and it could be a waste of time for him to come to class again. It’s safe to say I was intimidated. Thoroughly unprepared was I for a teaching context in which I had to prove my relevance — yet shouldn’t that be every teaching experience? It was only in the deep consideration of what Rickson wanted from our class, and how we could possibly provide that while juggling advanced learners at a variety of competencies, that I realized this was, finally, fully humanizing him. No longer just a teacher-student relationship, we were co-creating the teaching and learning, becoming mutually indebted to each other’s knowledge and experience. And after activities like mock job interviews and popcorn reading a narrative from a Zambian author, Rickson remarked today that the past couple of classes had been just fine (which is Zambian English for pretty darn good), and he was grateful for all of the work we had been doing. So, James, I might have to rewrite my final paper for your class on my Professional Identity as a teacher. Because true humanization comes from recognizing my place as a teacher, in debt to the students for trusting me to create a learning experience that is worthwhile and serves them in their humanity.

And if I could humanize myself and these convent inhabitants a little… here’s to us continually learning how to live together as humans, bringing out the best in each other and making space for the challenges too. Kamy and Ellie always taking initiative in expressing their love. Sloane, Piper, and James never failing to check in after our long and thought-provoking days. Caroline M., Alea, and Jeff keeping this ship upright when some of us fall behind on responsibilities. Sarah, Mia, and Caroline O. for consistently creating an upbeat and optimistic environment. Taylor and Lucia’s insightful questions, Katy’s organizational skills and servant leadership, Carly making sure I know the agenda, Cate encouraging me to take risks and having my back (and my hair). Natalie, Becca, and Kathleen for handling me at my worst and most stressed. I love you and this family we’re building.

Speaking of family: Mom, I can’t wait to connect and “Connect” with you. Dad, you inspire my quiet leadership and consideration for others. Lindsay, you would adore this little gazebo for a reading nook in the pleasant sunny afternoons — I hope summer is going well. Shannon, stay strong. You’re so close to being done with freshman year. Mammie, I miss your cooking (but rest assured that Mamas Katendi and Christine are taking the best care of us). Jax and Avery, sending cuddles. I miss you all so much.

My Squash House roommates — god, I wish you were here to witness the crazy bugs (Leah), the market-to-table cooking experience (Belle), the outdoor adventures (Liam), the incredible music (Sara), the spontaneity and pace of life (Trudy). And the sunsets and laughter and complex conversations (all of you).

Kenzie, you would make the most beautiful paintings and poetry of this experience. Natalie, I wish I could dance around the fire with you. (Also, I’m pretty sure I didn’t send the blog to you both, so trusting that Mom will get on that.)

To all of our parents, siblings, relatives, friends… please keep commenting. You, too, are a part of this humanized and imperfect but good community. Hearing from you brings us so much joy (and often a few tears).

This experience is complicated. And how I show up will never be perfect. But if nothing else, I know I am making progress in how I humanize each and every person surrounding me in this community. Humanizing us all in our flaws, in our complexities, in our imperfections, and in our beauty. And I think that’s pretty darn good (or maybe “just fine”).

Sean Mullins
School of Education, Class of ’27

PS, We are going on homestays tomorrow night, so we won’t be posting a new blog until Sunday.

Over the past five days in Zambezi, I have been shown nothing but compassion, grace, and love from both the Zambezi community and my peers on this perspective-changing and challenge-seeking journey. Each new place we have encountered, I have been welcomed with open arms that set a precedent for a relationship during my time in Zambezi. To start, the moment I stepped off the bush plane I immediately heard the voices of the Chilenga School Choir. Prior to this moment we had gotten absolutely soaked by the mist of Victoria Falls, watched Caroline and Taylor almost being taken out by an elephant in Opi’s rig, and jumped 111 meters from the Victoria Falls Bridge, and instantly looking to Cate, saying, “can we please do that again.” Yet, through all the chaos, hearing the choir was the first time I was able to visualize the impact the Zambezi community would have on me over the next couple of weeks. As the choir was singing, children from all directions were running to see us. After the choir was done singing, the children led us hand-in-hand and guided us to the Convent. This simple act of young children shows how simple it can be to welcome absolute strangers and forge a community. This principle has only grown as we have started to create connections with other community members. In a conversation with Jeff yesterday, in our living room, study space, game room, late-night journal room, and hangout spot he challenged my thinking by saying, “don’t correct all the inconveniences.” Though Sean, Piper, Cate, Kathleen, Carly, and I are currently enduring not having a toilet which could be labeled as an inconvenience, my thinking has changed

A couple of days ago, Jeff sent us on a scavenger hunt all throughout the market. Quickly Caroline O., Taylor, Caroline M., and I ran into a woman named Wendy, the owner of a chitenge store in the heart of the market. Amid all the busyness of the market, Wendy did not hesitate to temporarily close her shop and lead our group through the tight alleys to find lemons. She then guided us to her friend Tina, who simply gave us the lemons. Though this was definitely an “inconvenience” for Wendy and Tina, their guidance allowed for us to make further connections both in the community, while providing the opportunity to serve my peers.  I hope Wendy and Tina are proud to know that Sarah, Mia and I squeezed thirty lemons to make lemonade for the ZamFam25.

Yesterday, I went to Chilenga Primary School in the Special Unit, I had three students and what I thought was going to be an observation, quickly turned into teaching a full lesson (by myself) to students that do not speak the same language. Though at first, I thought this was a major “inconvenience,” I quickly turned my thought around and took time to forge a connection with the three students, who were quick to laugh at my crooked writing on the chalkboard. Then, during our English class, focused on reading, we often have students trickling late (Zambian time), and today I noticed one student, Philippians, walk into the backyard. Instead of thinking that him coming in late was an “inconvenience,” I took the time to read the passage with him one-on-one. After a couple of minutes Lucia came over and we all took time to read and understand each and every word, celebrating his victories together. For example, when he nailed the word recognize and institution in the reading. After class, Phippians came up to me, and vocalized his excitement for class tomorrow, showing me that connections are never inconvenient.

Within the convent, yesterday I worked alongside Mama Christine and Mama Katendi. To them, instead of labeling me as an “inconvenience” they took the time to learn my aglio e olio recipe and teach me how to cook. The mamas embraced my limited knowledge and turned it into moments of teaching and connectivity. That has flourished into my deepened knowledge of Zambian culture through food.

I have learned to love the Zambian communities and culture. I credit my fellow Zags for guiding this experience and creating lasting memories, from reading the blog around the table, crying happy and sad tears. From watching the sunset on the Zambezi River, to playing mini Uno, to navigating how to be genuine, compassionate, and fun-loving individuals, with a newfound global perspective as a global citizen. Jeff, James, and Lucia have been guiding our group with such selflessness and have all challenged our perspectives in our naïve and limited knowledge of Zambia. It is not an inconvenience to help those around me. It is not an inconvenience to walk to the market with Mama Christine to buy our eighth jar of peanut butter. Most importantly, the people of Zambezi have shown me that it is not an inconvenience to slow down and take time to create and cultivate authentic relationships.   

To my Mom and brother, Eli, have fun visiting Alyssa at the Duke Lemur Center, and please eat a slice of pizza at the Mellow Mushroom for me. I love and miss you all so much and I give the most credit to you all for teaching me how to be a kind, fun, and human-centric person.

Becca Hershey
School of Ed, Class of ‘27

As I am writing this blog, I am overcome with emotions. I wish I could share everything I have learned thus far in a profound and inquisitive way. However, I am settling for small moments of good. So, with snot running down my face, and tears in my eyes, join me in the small snippets from our time here:

Moment #1:

Although Jeff (aka lil Doddy/Jeffie/Jefe/Mama Jeff as I like to call him), sometimes has a tough exterior, I have found a few moments of beautiful cracks. These cracks serve as reminders that no matter how seemingly unrelatable or distant someone may appear, we are all human deep down. While I do not have time to go into ALL of the ways I have seen him as simply a human, I really enjoyed making dinner with him last night. We bonded over similar music tastes, moments of silence, our INCREDIBLE singing skills, and the mashing of tomatoes by hand. Although lil Doddy is an authority figure whom I deeply respect, he is also just a human. It is a good reminder that no matter how elevated or low we might perceive someone to be, deep down everyone is just a human doing their best. An amazing lesson to be thinking about while interacting with the people of Zambezi.

Moment #2:

After returning from the market today. I found a relatively quiet place to read our assignment, “Who is a Servant Leader” by Robert K. Greenleaf. As I lay on the ground and watched the ants crawl up small blades of grass, I was reminded of the Outdoor Leadership class I took with Dave Gilbert, more specifically, the exercise he had us do on our backpacking trip. We lay on the wet moss and imagined we were an ant, a mite, and then a bear. It symbolized how the challenges we all face may vary in size on a measurable scale, but rarely vary in effort put in. Everyone has their challenges where they are ants, and the ones where they are bears. These last few mornings have been hard for me, and honestly so has the last many months. Despite seemingly everything going well and harnessing my ability to not sweat the small stuff, I still have this underlying and looming feeling that something bad is going to happen, that I am not doing enough, and that I am going to let everyone down. These thoughts make simply getting out of bed feel like I am an ant trying to make it to the top of a redwood tree.

Moment #3:

Earlier today, two plumbers had been in our bathroom, tasked with replacing the cistern above our toilet bowl. Meanwhile, we sat around the dinner table as Sarah read aloud her blog and the comments. We heard a BANG. the priest rushed in, the plumbers left, and we suspiciously continued with our readings. After all the blog was read, Jeff burst out in laughter, informing the people in rooms #1 and #2, that we may no longer use our Jack-and-Jill style bathroom for #1 nor #2. Carly, Kathleen, Becca, Cate, Sean, and I ogled at the modern art project that had become of our bathroom: somehow, the plumbers had shattered the toilet bowl into dozens of pieces and very suspect water spread across the bathroom floor. We could only laugh. The priest had mopped up the water that leaked and Jeff pleaded with the plumbers to come back tomorrow. We desperately hope they do.

Moment #4:

This final moment happened about 2 hours ago now. Mama and Dad Doty, you should be so incredibly proud of your Loosh. Instead of writing this blog, I have been sitting on the outside patio of the convent crying over how I felt like everything I was writing was stupid, I had no direction for the blog, and then the bigger feelings of defeat and not being good enough took over. I had finally calmed myself down, but not gotten rid of the feelings when Loosh gently and kindly came up and asked me how I was doing. I immediately burst into tears again. Without saying a word, she placed her hand on my back and rubbed with a comforting sentiment of accompaniment. In that moment, she was not there to advise, help, or even to listen. She was just there with me. As we moved on from the nonverbal segment of our interaction, she went on the listen, empathize, and affirm saying, “Let it just be a moment. Let your writing just be okay.” So, although I wish I could share every last detail with you, here are just a few of the moments in which I have found meaning.

Harlow, happy late birthday. I love and miss you and your brother so so so much. I hope you had an amazing unicorn birthday party.

Dad, thank you for continuing to comment. I look forward to hearing your support and wisdom every morning. I love you so much. Although, sometimes it shows up blank, so maybe ask a young person to help you out :/

Kee, you should be so proud of your girls. You have raised such incredible women through leading by example.

Brytn, Addie, and Brai, I have been thinking a lot about you here. I feel incredibly guilty that I am missing all of your graduations, but I am so proud of each of you.

Heather, I am still making it through your book, but I think it came into my life at a perfect time. I am still learning from your wisdom of how to embrace good. (EVERYONE go buy Good is Amazing by Heather Campbell.)

Future 1103 roomies, living in this collective lifestyle has made me so excited for our future adventures in that big ol’ house. I hope you are all doing well.

Whoever asked if Sarah really killed a chicken, yes yes she did. And it was delicious.

Piper Krill
Class of ‘27

Hi, I’m Sarah LaFleur, one of the two first-year students who got the opportunity to experience Zambia. 

“When my path through life feels difficult or scary, I can find peace knowing I am in the presence of God. I may not always be able to see how the road ahead will bend. But if I fear the unknown, I won’t be able to enjoy the journey.” A quote from the Daily Word my grandma handed off to me for this trip. 

As a child, I was incredibly outgoing. So outgoing that my family had to retrieve me back from trying to leave a restaurant with other families. I would start a conversation with anyone at any time, whether they wanted to listen or not. Moving forward to my young teenage years, where individualism begins to dull before flourishing once adulthood comes around, I strayed away from the outgoingness. I would speak only when I had something appealing to say, or when the ones I wanted to impress were around. I began shaping my own insecurities while missing out on the best parts of life. I don’t know whether it’s the way society has shaped young women to be or the constant pressure to be perfect we Americans seem obsessed with, but as I faced the starting point of adulthood, I grew uncomfortable with unfamiliarity and was unwilling to experience the unknown for fear of how others perceive me. This trip has so far thrown me full speed into both the unknown and the unfamiliar. 

With this trip, I went from driving the same roads I’ve known for 19 years, to navigating a foreign city only hours upon landing. From sleeping in a room surrounded by family at home and close friends at school, to sleeping in a hostel with 4 people I barely knew and a thin tent surrounded by the wildlife of Botswana. From conversing with close friends in English, to trying to understand the 72 different languages spoken in Zambia. Even from buying chicken breast at Costco, to preparing it myself from coop to table. (Nick, you were right, I did have to kill a chicken.) 

These out of comfort zone experiences have brought the most indescribable memories. I could not see how, “the road ahead will bend,” but I trusted God, my professors and peers, and my support back home to protect me. 

These experiences all tie back to connection. accompaniment. As we have been in Zambezi for four days now, we have been discussing the importance of accompaniment. In one of our readings, How to Know a Person by David Brooks, we learned the qualities of accompaniment. The one that I have been practicing in my days here is the other-centeredness. Letting your image, your ego, and your self-deprecating thoughts go to enjoy the present moment. The little things such as your hair, your weight, and your outfit do not matter when you’re involved in such joyful experiences. 

I did not think of how my hair looked when I leapt off a bridge; I instead made a bonding connection with Natalie who was jumping with me, attached to my hip. I did not think of what was stuck in my teeth while I sat face to face with a lion, I instead felt immense emotions connecting me to the wildlife on earth. I did not think of how my eyebrows were not plucked while I learned how to prepare a meal with Mama Katendi or was taught about Tok-Tawki Beetles by Opi, I instead engaged in gaining new cultural understanding and knowledge. I did not think of how my stomach looked in my shirt when I danced freely around the fire, I instead immersed myself into the Zambian way, care free and full of support.

Zambia has taught me a new way of life. I am connecting with others, unafraid of what they may perceive. I am learning about culture, open to admitting my assumptions. I am contributing to the community, finding growth in making mistakes. My inability to be present, to let go of my judgmental thoughts, to avoid the unfamiliar, the unknown, and the uncomfortable have begun fading away, and I can not wait to see what more can be done in the next three weeks.

To my friends and family, I miss you lots and cannot wait to see you all. I will continue to be constantly reminded of the love and support I have from back home. (Ps: Dad, my towel is working!)

Sarah LaFleur
School of Education, Class of ’28

Today is Sunday and we went to the local church in Zambezi. Growing up music was always a big part of my life. Between dancing to “Fly Me to the Moon” with my dad and rocking out to the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack. Or scream singing “Into the Unknown” and Abba with my mom, my love from music ties me to my family. I have done choir for 4 years and band for 9 years and have been fortunate to find community, love, and support within music. I have fond memories of my mom helping me and my siblings with piano, my dad singing me lullabies before bed and me and by siblings jamming out to “Mr. Bright Side” by the Killers. While I miss my family and home a ton, I feel that in every song and melody I feel that my family is with me. 

A common belief is that music is its own language. Whether it is during mass, in the car with your friends, or a tune in the background at a park, music holds so much memory, power, emotion, and connection. Through my time at Gonzaga and in Zambia, I have been able to see and experience new perspectives around God and religion. During the mass in Zambia I prayed for the first time in years. It was not a prayer for something to work out for me on a whim. Nor for the immediate Hail Mary for a family member’s health. I simply thanked God, and asked for protection & joy for our group and the community. Thing singing in the choir reminded me of my Grandma Penny. She was always said to have had a beautiful voice and sang in the choir back in Ketchikan, Alaska. What made me decide to pray was the emotions I felt in the singing of the choir and the whispers of hope. It reminded me of my Grandma’s love of God, family and music. Even though during the mass in Zambezi I couldn’t understand all the words the singers were saying, there was pure joy and love in their singing. This brought me a comfort and happiness that I have not felt in a Catholic Church in a long time. 

Later in the day, after having a semi stressful lesson planning conversation Sean and I went for a decompression walk. We came across an older woman boiling water for a shower. After waving and saying hi, I decided to ask if we could come talk, which led to us taking a seat on her tarp. We learned about her past experiences in the hospitals fighting the AIDS and HIV outbreak. She lives in a house sandwiched between her son and daughter’s houses. She had at least 12 grandchildren and great grandchildren running around playing and made each of them come say hi to us. We heard about how proud she was of her hard working kids throughout the region and made sure to tell us how happy she was we were in Zambezi. During the conversation I couldn’t help but reminisce of the times with all my cousins and second cousins running around in Ketchikan. One of her grandchildren, Hagai, started drumming on a wooden stool with two sticks. I pointed out to the boy that Sean is also a drummer and may or may not have peer pressured him into playing. They went back and forth exchanging rhythms, no words were spoken. It was a beautiful moment where even though there was a language barrier, cultural barrier and big age difference, they were able to not only communicate but build an understanding and connection with each other. I also gave the drums a shot but was not as successful (which Sean has on video). This made all of us laugh together and I was yet again reminded of the joy music had brought my family. 

Later in the evening we had a meet and greet turned dance party with the local church’s youth group, St. Gabriel’s, the GABBYs. We all danced together to traditional Lunda and Luvale songs. None of us had any idea what the words meant but we moved our hips and swayed our hands just the same. Yet again, I had joy, love and laughter fill my heart and soul. There were people who I just met, some whose hand I never got to shake but the connection we had while listening to the music is a bond that will last a lifetime. As one of my teachers said, there are many seeds being planted during this trip that will one day grow into trees. I hope that through  my experience in Zambezi, the seeds of patience, connection and hope will become a tree. 

Kathleen Slee
School of Education, Class of ’27

“Clear is kind. Unclear is unkind.” – Brené Brown

Ever since I read Dare to Lead last summer, I have lived my life based on this quote. Over the past several months I have applied it to all areas of my life, from communicating with customers at work, to roommates, to my older brother and parents. I thought I had it down: Say what you mean, even if it might be difficult for you to communicate or for the other person to hear (in  respectful ways, of course). Furthermore, act with purpose, mindfulness, and intentionality. However, my world has been slightly shaken over the past week as I have realized that I do not, in fact, have it all figured out.

Jeff has a patch on the fanny pack he carries around that says, “Humanize, Accompany, Complicate.” He explained to us early on that he tries to cultivate his experience in Zambia each year through these words. The one that sticks out to me most is complicate. The dynamics between ourselves and Zambians, and between our expectation and our actual experiences, throughout the first week of our trip were very complicated. I grappled with going to high tea at a five star resort owned by South Africans just a few miles down the road from our hostel, negotiating with vendors at the public and curio markets over money that to us seems nominal, and eating at restaurants that seem to serve everything but traditional Zambian cuisine. In my mind, these experiences were anything but clear, and I struggled to know if I was speaking, acting, and experiencing Zambia “correctly.”

Yesterday after our warm welcome in Zambezi, full of singing and dancing, Taylor, Alea, Becca, and I joined a pickup soccer game with a group of boys down the block from the convent, despite their obvious doubts about our soccer talent. We played until It was dark, stopping to admire the purple and yellow sunset. Highlights included Alea being chosen for a PK (and scoring!) and my left-footed goal in the upper right corner. We were elated when we left and many of the boys called after us, “let’s play again tomorrow!”

The soccer game made it known to me that Jeff’s complicate patch isn’t talking about how complicated it may feel to interact with a new culture. Rather, it is abut complicating our experiences in order to become mutually indebted with this community. Going to high tea, engaging at the curio markets, and eating at restaurants catering to tourists gave me firsthand experience with how this culture came to be what it is. Even though we couldn’t understand some of what our soccer teammates said and were very unclear on the boys’ local rules at times (talk about complicated), we established an understanding of our place on the pitch and developed strong teamwork by the end of the game. We were part of how they connect with one another.

That’s what I think Brené Brown missed: the how. Finding out how isn’t always clear, but it is always complicated. Being clear in every single thing I say and do doesn’t allow me to experience genuine connection, new perspectives, and real conversations – the how. Embracing complication, on the other hand, pushes me to explore the boundaries of what I know about myself and the world as I interact with others. As we look to begin our classes this week, my goal is to drive my work with complication and dare myself to be unclear.

Caroline Murphy
Class of 2027

Today was the day that we departed for Zambezi for the next three weeks. What an exciting day of transition and new beginnings. For me, this morning did not start off as bright and early as it normally would. Because we were flying in (comically) small bush planes from Livingstone to Zambezi, the group was split in half today, Luckily, I was in the afternoon group and didn’t have to wake up at 6:00 AM.

The afternoon group passed the time before we went to Livingstone’s small airport by crossing the street and visiting the ShopRite, where we got an assortment of sandwiches and ice cream to share. For some reason, I got an egg salad sandwich which was quickly met with judgement and was later shamed on the plane.

From chatting at the hostel, enjoying high tea and even just a quick stop at the grocery store, this past week has been an amazing culmination of connection, wonder and learning. As we transition from a week full of activities and magical sightseeing, to the bulk of our program in Zambezi, I feel grateful for the week we have had and am beyond excited for what’s to come.

There have been so many moments throughout this week that have made it all so special. Passing the long bus ride by giggling with old and new friends. Navigating local markets in Livingstone together. Sitting around a campfire, sharing vulnerable truths and cracking childish jokes. Walking across a soaking and slippery bridge at Victoria Falls, shrieking, shaking and sopping with utter excitement and glee. All of these moments made this week one that we will never forget and have set a strong foundation of connection and bonding that has prepared us for our transformative experience in Zambezi.

Once we were at the airport, we met our pilot, Jason, who took us out to the tarmac. Antsy but excited, Taylor, Becca and I, were shocked by how small the plane was.

We quickly loaded into the bush planes, packed in like a bunch of sardines, put our headsets on, and we were off! As we ascended, we looked out the right window, watching the magical mist of Victoria Falls from a bird’s eye view as we flew over Livingstone and on toward Zambezi. Reaching up to 8,800 feet and flying through thick white clouds, we let out nervous giggles and chatted through our headsets. Kathleen got a flight lesson from Jason and even controlled the plane briefly!

After our two-hour flight, we finally touched down in Zambezi. Upon arrival, we were greeted by the Chilena Basic School choir, singing a joyous welcome song. The voices of 20 students harmonizing, clapping and swaying as they held a sign that read: Welcome Gonzaga University to Chilena Basic School. We quickly boarded off the plane, greeting the choir singers and other Zambezi community members and children. I instantly felt overcome with a surplus of emotions and couldn’t help but cry happy tears at the beauty of this moment. As I wiped my tears, my eyes were met with a sea of smiling faces, my ears  met with welcoming words and a blend of harmonious voices.  

We walked to the convent (our home base for the next three weeks) and we were joined by a parade of kids, just as excited to meet us as we were to meet them. We settled into the convent and were warmly greeted by Mama Katendi. Later in the evening, we went out to the yard to play with our new friends. We taught them duck duck goose and they taught us a game called red rover. Once the sun had set, we parted ways with our new friends and all enjoyed our first meal in the convent, prepared my Mama Katendi and Mama Kristine. We rehearsed a Lunda song for church tomorrow and had our nightly reflection as usual.

In the next three weeks, we will continue to connect with each other, connect with the people of Zambezi, opening our hearts and minds to all there is to learn and relish in. We will forge meaningful connections while we teach our respective classes and work in the local hospital. The new faces that greeted us today will quickly turn to familiar ones. This introduction to Zambezi couldn’t have been better and I cannot wait for the next three weeks and what they hold.

Sending love to my mama, family and girls back home. Your love and support have made this experience possible.

Mia Stillman
Gonzaga class of ‘27