Gonzaga-in-Zambezi

The “Zambian Bug” is an illness that haunts Zags during their stay in Zambezi. History of past trips has shown that it will terrorize at least half our trip so I was well aware that my time would likely come; I just didn’t think it would come three hours into our trip. Yes, while standing on the dirt road with millions (exaggeration) of children waiting to welcome the last two flights of Zags, the Zambian bug resurrected my lunch. The next forty-eight hours were nothing short of miserable. Between constant vomiting, a fever, dehydration, exhaustion, and delusion, I was attempting to make this new place feel like home. I have never felt such misery, fear, and frustration as I did during this time. The illness was enough, but add on the conditions in which we were adjusting to and the misery was magnified.

As I lay in bed with a high fever, the sun beat in through the broken windows making the A/C free convent even hotter. My vomiting throughout the day turned into vomiting in the dark because the power gets shut off at 12am daily. Even reaching for a simple glass of water was a difficult task because the water is contaminated and shuts off randomly. My best bet of getting better was some good sleep but of course that wasn’t going to happen because of the dog fights, rooster crowing, and bus horn sounding randomly throughout the night. Being sick with the Zambian bug was absolutely the most miserable experience I have gone through because of added obstacles and fear of the unknown. I didn’t think it could get any worse; and then I felt a bug crawl up my leg as I slept. While I was selfishly feeling bad for myself and wanting to give up on this trip, I was oblivious to the beauty and lessons God had placed around me.

Lying in bed, having these thoughts, I could hear my Zag fam singing and dancing in the kitchen to “Fear” which reminded me of how lucky I am to have these beautiful souls to journey along with. I thought back to when Abbey reminded me that she loved me while she changed the cold washcloths on my head. I reflected on how Katie B. left everyone notes of praise and motivation because…well because she’s just that sweet. Even that moment I peeped into Elly and Mercer teaching their sixth graders and hearing them singing along with their class. How lucky am I to be surrounded by this inspiring, selfless, goofy, passionate- quite frankly- weird group of people.   I’ve been blessed to be a part of this group. I knew I couldn’t let my fears fail me and my team.

Many of us have struggled with the thought of coming to Zambezi and teaching classes. While we want to come and offer what we can to this community, we are careful of the power dynamic. The beauty of this trip is that we are here to be present with these people and experience an exchange of perspectives and culture; not to feel empowered by fixing or helping. I’m a nursing student. Yes, I can talk to you about catecholamines and what causes orthostatic hypertension (shout out to A&P) but I don’t know the first thing about health in a third world country. So, for the past semester the thought of standing in front of a group of Zambians to teach a health class made me uneasy.

As strange as it is, being sick was a huge blessing because I experienced first hand health in this country. Though being ill was only a sliver of exposure into this complex issue, it changed my mentality in our class and at our visit to the Zambezi Hospital. I was humbled as our team met with the community members who eagerly asked questions and saw the works of the doctors who made use of the few resources available. On our visit to the local hospital, Dr. Titus so graciously toured us through the facility. It was crowded, hot, and chaotic. But it was inspiring to our team because we recognized their resilience in overcoming the obstacles in order to bring dignified care to the people of Zambezi. Had I not been sick in the beginning, I don’t know if I would have understood the complexity of dealing with health care quite like I did once I experienced it.

Each of these individuals is inspiring. Every single person has brought comfort and laughter to one another. Each person has a passion that they are sharing with the Zambezi community. Each has a selfless heart which they are sharing. I don’t know where this journey will take me, what kind of person I’ll be at the end, or what ways my heart will be shaped. But what I do know is that I love this family of mine, the beautiful faces of Zambezi that have so graciously welcomed their homes and hearts to us, and the crazy ways in which God is shaping us.  We are alive and thriving.

Ps. Mom- Please do not worry. I am in great hands and loving every minute. It was just a stomach flu. XOXO

Kisu Mwane

Hayley Wilcox

Class of 2018

“Who can answer this question?”

Steven’s hand shoots towards the tin roof like a chindele jumping from a cockroach scurrying across the convent’s dusty floor. He sits there, waiting for the verdict of the benevolent ruler of the classroom, Madame Mululu.

“Alright my friend.”

Steven stands up on his orange-tipped cleats and practically floats across the broken concrete floor to the decrepit blackboard at the front of the room. His oversized white button-up tails behind him. He stares at the board, reading again:

A teacher wants to share 3 1/5 bars of chocolate equally among 8 children. How           much chocolate does each child get?

His fingers grip the ghostly chalk, preparing to lead 44 other eager Zambian children through the board and to the promised answer.

3 1/5 / 8

The problem stares at him, daring him to make a move to try and answer it. Taunting him with the hope of praise, but the equal opportunity for failure and embarrassment.   He is not fazed. Steven expertly rehearses the method he just learned.

16/5 / 8/1

“Turns into” he states

16/5 * 1/8

Staring across the room, Steven sees the nods of approval from Madame Mululu and his fellow learners.

16*1 = 16           

5*8   = 40

He scribbles the numbers on the board as the class shouts them along with him. At this point, Steven is leading the class. He is in charge of teaching the other students how this problem is supposed to be solved. He seems to be foaming at the mouth with this chance to be the center of attention, to lead the others through this seemingly impossible task.

“What goes into both 16 and 40?” asks Madame Mululu.   The class buzzes with little voices whispering to each other, trying to figure out the correct number. Someone squeaks in the back right corner of the room.

“8.”

And they are off, trying to decide the correct numbers through their division.

“8 goes into 16 two times. And 40…5 times”

16/40 = 2/5

“So the correct answer is?” asks Madame Mululu. Steven turns to the board, starting to write the answer at the bottom.

“At the top my friend.”

Steven tries to write the answer next to the question.

“No, the other board!” laughs Madame Mululu. Steven turns to the other side of the board and begins writing, standing on the tips of his cleats.

Each student gets 2/5 chocolate bar.

“Is he correct?” Madame Mululu looks at the rest of the classroom.

“Yes” reverberates off the stained, crumbling yellow and blue walls.

“Okay, we will clap for him and he will walk back to his seat, not slow” Madame Mululu relays to Steven and the class, even though all they little hands have already began to clap. They know what is about to happen. Steven knows what is about to happen. His face gives away the joy that he feels. His smile is so wide, every tooth is visible in his mouth, shining and putting his joy on display for all of us to see.

Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap

A rhythm develops with each slap of hands together. It reverberates throughout the walls, off the dust-covered glass, and back into Steven, back into us all. Steven starts to shimmy and shake, pose and slide down the aisle to his seat. He turns around like he is on a catwalk and throws both hands out to his side, and slides, completely disregarding the no slow walking rule. No one cares. We all crack up, letting the joy of this moment roll throughout us, moving our hearts and our minds. In this moment, we are all right. We are all one with Steven. The shared love and joy is felt by all, even this chindele sitting in the back of the room.

This chandelle though, still has no idea what he is doing in this place. I wake up each and every morning thinking that this great understanding has come to me in my sleep.  Like the tooth fairy coming to take my back left molar, but instead of leaving me with a quarter and some insight, I wake to find my molar still sitting under the pillow, buried underneath the sheets and pillow case, waiting for her to come. I put the education team as number one on my list of preferences during the application process for two reason: 1) I have no understanding or idea of what the other teams were and knew for a fact that I would only be asking more questions than adding to the information given, and 2) I believed that I could come to this place and help the students at Chilena primary school learn to write and speak English. I have been speaking English my entire life and even though I have zero formal teaching experience, I believed that my experience as a native English speaker would allow me to bring something to these students. I believed that I could help them better understand English and, in turn, build their literacy rates and help them better themselves. Now, staring back at this process of thinking after spending some time in the school and around the Zambians, I realize how shortsighted I was.

These kids don’t need me.

They have amazing teachers who care for them deeply and who are fluent English speakers themselves. My presence has only distracted them. I am a large white male walking across the courtyard of the school, and into a classroom and each and every student’s eyes are on me, not their teachers or their lessons. How am I helping? How am I adding to anything that they are learning? Their teachers are giving us three weeks out of their planned curriculum to allow us to try and help them in a subject where they are already well versed in. This entire line of thinking seems completely ungrateful for the sacrifices that many have made for me to allow for this amazing opportunity to get to see and work alongside some amazingly intelligent and warm individuals, yet I keep finding myself asking the same question. Why am I here? What will I bring to these people?

Yes, I see my placement within the Chilena school as a distraction to their everyday life. Yes, I still question how I will be able to give them a new insight and experience regarding English. Yes, I still question if my work here will bring forth anything. However, I am beginning to see again how even though I have these questions, the people and society here in Zambezi will allow me to work through these questions and walk alongside me to  find possible solutions, while bringing about new and challenging questions that I will carry beyond these borders. Just like Steven working through his math equation, I am working through my own equation of my placement in Zambia and how I can be of service to these people. However, my experience in Zambezi has shown me that these people will love and accept me no matter the doubts, questions or strayed emotions I have. They all know on some level that they are teaching me even more than I could ever teach them, and they are doing it through love and acceptance being shared and given to a multitude of individuals coming from numerous backgrounds, all combining together into this amazing little place in southern Africa. It is the most innate and human thing that we do in this life, to love and accept others for whoever they are, wherever they come from, and wherever they are going.  As I move forward with my short time here in Zambezi, I know that by walking alongside these people, they will help me through time discover who I am and why I am here.  We all have the capacity for giving and sharing our lives and there is always room to walk alongside someone during their journey, which helps both parties grow and learn from each other.  I am still learning and still growing, and with the love and acceptance of the Zambian people, will continue to do so long after my time here has ended.

Kisu Mwane,

Andrew Mercer

Class of 2016

It was a grand reunion Sunday morning as community members and Gonzaga students gathered in the courtyard for the first time since mid-afternoon on the previous day when students left with a host family from the local parish for an overnight homestay. Seven families from the parish shared their hospitality and agreed to host our 17 students – for dinner, the night’s sleep, and a morning breakfast. Many hugs were passed around and the stories were just waiting to be shared about the different experiences that everyone had. All of these would have to wait because the church doors opened and the choir’s welcome calls signified the start of what would turn out to be a beautiful, breathtaking, memorable (three and a half hour) Sunday morning mass.

The mass was celebrated in English and Lunda with a translator between the two during the homily. When I took my first deep breath inside the church I could feel my heartbeat align with the deep bass and rhythmic patterns of the drums. I sat next to Moira, Zac, and Dakota in a pew right behind the church choir. I found myself tapping along with the beat while my eyes tried to take in all of the body movements that the church choir added to their songs. Father Noel’s sermon lasted about an hour, which was broken up every few minutes by the Lunda translator. I was able to listen and reflect on the previous few key points before he would shift to a new topic.

The first reading during the mass told of a time when the Spirit descended upon the apostles as a strong gust of wind. Father Noel shared that reading and interpreting the scriptures in a literal way is not always necessary. In reality the Holy Spirit more often resembles a gentle breeze that is felt and appreciated throughout the day.

I thought about this metaphorical gentle breeze and remembered back to the night before when Moira, Justin, and I were out at our homestay. Our host family was well respected within the community and extremely involved at the church. The youngest son in the family, Kunda, is 20 years old and just finished University, during which time he studied automotive engineering. We sat in the living room with the faint chatter of a Zambian talk show on TV while Kunda shared with us, late into the night, about the struggles of post graduate life and how in Zambia a degree does not always mean automatic employment. He questioned us asking if this was the same case in America because the movies make it seem as though everyone is very well off.

Back in my seat in the pew at mass, I started to realize that things are more complex than they once seemed. I felt the gentle breeze come through the window as I thought about the power that education and a degree has for an individual. However, too often this must be coupled with connections and opportunities. Kunda said it plain and simple, “It is still all about who you know.” That was a soft reminder about our connection as humans and the immense pressure that we all feel to succeed.

Father Noel continued, adding that we are all broken and greedy and selfish, but the one thing we can all find hope in is the universal language of love. Love is the language of the Holy Spirit. It may be spoken differently (in English, Luvale, or Lunda- to name a few), and it may be displayed differently (through a hug or a handshake), but the reality is that the people of God all know the language of love. Later Sunday afternoon I met with Katie K., Emily, and Mercer to finalize our first few lesson plans for our classes at Chileñga. As a class, the first book we will read is called Whoever You Are by Mem Fox. One part reads:

“Little one, when you are older and when you are grown,

you may be different, but remember this:

Joys are the same, and love is the same,

pain is the same and blood is the same,

smiles are the same and hearts are just the same-

wherever they are, wherever you are, wherever we are,

all over the world.”

Kisu Mwane,

Elly Zykan

Class of 2018

Ps. There were two posts from Sunday! Make sure you catch Dakota’s as well!

As we touched down in Zambezi, we looked out the small windows of the four-person plane, curious about this new world we were about to enter. As we looked around at each other, our faces were filled with joy and eagerness to step off the plane into the sea of children, who were joyously singing and dancing and ready to welcome us into their community. I was embracing all the little hands latching onto me and couldn’t help but smile, listening to these beautiful children screaming, “HI HOW ARE YOU?” with so much excitement. This feeling of love and sense of community have filled our days here thus far. I feel blessed to be able to experience people in this way, but what comes with this feeling of great welcoming to this community; we are also challenged to find our place in this community.

Something I have found myself struggling with is trying to make sense of my past international experiences over the years, including this being my second time on the African continent. What makes this experience in Zambezi different from the rest of my travels is I am being immersed into this community in a way I have never been before. Because we are here for 4 weeks, we are able to make relationships that really can build over time. We are also able to have a first hand experience in the education system, as we are teaching classes during the days. Finding my place here is really a great opportunity I get, to walk the fine line between being an outsider and walking with the community. I am feeling culture shock in a way that is different than before. The culture shock is less about the environment here, and more about the relationship between my culture in the states and the culture of Zambezi in a more transparent way.

Before our flight from Lusaka to Zambezi, the last group to leave was able to spend time at the Flying Missions guesthouse and got to talk with one of the pilots, Andy, for quite awhile. Our talk with Andy was the first time I felt uncomfortable this trip, but was also the first time I was truly challenged to question my place in Zambia. Andy is an expat who was born in Switzerland and then lived in Afghanistan for several years before moving to Lusaka, Zambia. This being said, he is a very well traveled man who was able to share his thoughts on this country from an outside perspective. Andy talked about foreign aid and the downfall of it, if it is not executed correctly. Two things can go wrong: we help when they don’t need it, and we don’t help when they do need it. An example would be the amount of clothes that are donated from the western world to African countries, in order to clothe people who are seen as not having enough to wear. The problem with this system is it puts the clothing industries in Africa in a hard place because they will go out of business if they are no longer needed to make clothing for their community. Another problem with this idea of clothing scarcity is it is a misconception. In my time here so far, I have become fond of a young boy named Motondo, who I have seen everyday wearing different clothes and two outfits on Sunday for mass. I’m not sure where this conception that African’s need to be clothed comes from, but I have also seen it with food. There is plenty of food in Zambezi, which I have seen in the strong traditions that surround meal making. These rituals carry on because of the food that continues to surround this land. It may not be as readily available as what we are used to, but we can’t compare our abundant grocery stores to their town markets. The flip side of this theme is figuring out where we are not helping when they do need help. This is not an easy solution and I certainly don’t have the answers for a town so foreign to me, but that is the lesson that we must share our knowledge, but not attempt to westernize a community. We must make solutions that are sustainable for this community, rather than fixing the problems our way. The message Andy left us with is we need to be immersed in a culture to truly understand the needs of the community.

This paradox of walking with and being an outsider is very representative of my experience in Zambezi so far. My goal on this journey is to find where I fit into this, and who I am in this community. We are all very excited and anxious to be starting classes tomorrow and beginning this incredible journey together.

Taylor – as we begin to prepare for our first computer class, we think of you and miss you. I am filled with happiness knowing that you will soon experience this amazing place.

Dakota Peterson

Class of 2018

Hello loved ones!

Our last hours and days (however many have passed) included several adventures already. The first, and not the least of our achievements, includes all of us making it to Seattle. Emirates Airlines was delightful. There were foldout menus for individuals to order from, the attendants were nice and helpful, the flight was smooth, and the journey was long. Its fourteen hours were felt down to the minute.

We passed the time in the typical Gonzaga student’s way of making the best of what comes one’s way. Students watched films and programs according to their individual preferences, music was shared, calls were made to specific seats (amongst our party), and many nervous and excited conversations exchanged about what this journey means and what our hopes and dreams included.

It has been great to get to know our students, your loved ones. They are so eager to discover, so incredibly caring and supportive. They have said, as we faculty have, that they look forward to- whatever this is- together.

We landed in Dubai, and it was Davis’s birthday. Our group ensured his time was meaningful, and I think it’s a birthday he’ll never forget. Landing in Dubai, in a light-filled city in the middle of the desert is indescribable. We went to the hotel and checked in, then headed out for brief sight seeing. We went to the mall to see the fountain show (think of the Bellagio on steroids) at 10pm in front of the world’s tallest building, passing through the mall’s enormous aquarium stocked with incredible biodiversity. Our driver, Chamal, was from Bangladesh, and explained about his experience in Dubai.   Foreigners make up 80% of the population, most are Indian. Afterwards, we left the mall area and drove further outside of town and dipped toes in the Arabian (Persian) Gulf. The water was warm and refreshing, and it felt so lovely to massage our feet in the rocky, sandy floor below the water.

We returned to the hotel and dined at a buffet, open till 12:30am! Most students filled up and then headed to bed, ready for their 5:30am wake up call and our 6:30am bus trip to the airport to board our flight to Lusaka, which would drop us off and continue off to Harare, Zimbabwe. It was much less crowded than our prior flight.

Upon arriving in Lusaka, we moved through customs smoothly, and earned a lot of stamps in our passports and visas. We were greeted by Father Dom and Guillermo from Flying Missions, the site we’d sleep at that night and whose pilots would fly us the nearly three hours to Zambezi the following morning. Father Dom got us to the mall, outside Lusaka and en route to Flying Missions guesthouse, so that we could exchange US dollars for Kwacha, purchase last minute supplies, and have a warm meal.   Afterwards, we drove for about 45 minutes, on a mostly paved road, to Flying Missions. We divided into five different flight groups, three leaving at 6am then returning to Flying Missions to collect the two remaining afternoon flights. Students cleaned up and were ready for sleep, but not before standing in awe under the night sky and giving thanks to see natural lights illumined, having traded in mall glitz and décor for the stars and nature’s sounds.

At 6am, the flight I was on left the red, dirt runway aboard a six passenger plane. We donned ear protection and seatbelts. We passed over the Kafue River and Kafue National Park- some groups spotted hippo, elephants and impala below their lovely flight. Some pilots did tricks, and passenger stomachs dropped and dipped with nausea.

In our plane, Sam, flew as co-pilot, and Hayley officially conquered her fear of flying. My eyes welled up several times witnessing students become more than who or what they thought they were or could be. And we weren’t even in Zambezi yet.

When we landed, students and children and community members had banners welcoming Gonzaga University to Zambezi with songs and dances and games and thousands of iterations of handholding. Each flight’s passengers greeted the next flight that landed, until we all finally made it to Zambezi, settled in the convent and began to write and reflect and prepare for dinner. Some slept. We are here- home for the next three weeks. Our students are safe and wide-eyed and relying on one another in a way that would warm your heart. Sweet dreams.

Abbey Martin

Instructor and Supervisor, Gonzaga University

You found it!  The Gonzaga-in-Zambezi Blog – a reflective space for students and faculty of this Gonzaga study abroad program to share their learning throughout their travels from May 10 – June 10, 2016.  Nearly every day (as technology and Zambia allows) a student will be posting a reflection on their significant learning, questions, and experiences.  Essential to this program is practicing an ethic of accompaniment — meaning that while in Zambezi, students generate opportunities to receive in the places they are serving, becoming mutually indebted to the community and develop meaningful relationships that assist them in operating at eye-level within this community.

Here is where you come in – while students will not have the ability to technologically connect with others outside the Zambezi community during their stay (no phones or email access), they will be reading this blog and the comments each morning over breakfast.  So send them a shout- out, a loving message, or how their particular posting resonated with you.  These connections from loved ones and curious strangers bring support in the sometimes challenging moments of this program.  Something else may just happen; that along the way, you may also learn about the world, accompaniment, the difficulty to “do good” in the world, and the beauty of new friendships across cultural boundaries.  We invite you to come along for the journey.

We have spent the past three days standing in awe of one of the seven wonders of the world, riding in an open vehicle through the animal filled fields on an African safari, and drinking high tea at a resort over the Zambezi river that costs $1000 per night. For many this is the Zambia and the Africa they know, and I have realized I am so grateful that this has been part of my experience. But I am equally grateful that it has been only a small part.

I think it’s easy to come tour a place and say you love it, but I wonder if you can truly love something that you do not really know. If we look at some of the deepest relationships that exemplify love in our lives, we might look at the love between two sisters (shout-out to my two wonderful sisters), the love between a married couple, or the love between God and His children. Love like this isn’t one dimensional, simple, and ignorant. Love like this is raw, messy, nakedly exposed, and beautiful. Love like this means seeing a person in their glory and their flaws and still choosing to love every part of them anyway.

I am glad that I am more than a surface lover of Zambezi. I have started to transcend the line between romanticizing a people with the shallow love of a visitor to choosing to love a people after seeing all of their mess. This trip has been harder than I imagined coming in, but the challenges have allowed me to truly love Zambezi and call it a home.

My heart filled with simple, profound joy as I sat next to a fire with my “mom,” Rachael, and my “sister,” Diris, on the night of our homestay in a bush village with no running water or electricity. Katie and I sat under the stars with them talking for three hours about everything—Rachael’s divorce and her leaning on God to support her when everything in her life was stripped away, the vocations we hope to have in the future, what fills our hearts with joy and impassions us, the little things that define us and make us who we are. These strangers became family and allowed me to experience a life so simple and focused on loving each other deeply and truly.

My eyes filled with tears dripping down my overheated face after seeing the shock and pain in a classmate’s eyes after a dehumanizing encounter at a cultural festival we attended. I shook, infuriated that both the Zambians in the cultural performance and students on our trip were treated in disrepectful and violating ways where men had power over helpless women. The tears were for both the Luvale tradition that was being corrupted by these dancers who failed to respect and treat all people as equals, and also for the traditions I am fully aware that we have in the United States that also fail to respect and dignify all people as equals.

My skin filled with goose-bumps as I stood listening to the story of one of the strongest woman I have ever met reveal to me that she has been left by her husband with seven children and no support. Despite this, she works multiple jobs to make enough money to support her children through school because she values education so much. I had the honor to work with her in our business and leadership class on a project of her choice, and she chose to propose a knitting school to support other women who couldn’t afford to send their kids to school. Even though successful students of such a school might cut into her own market for hand-knit products, she talked about the women in her community as “my women” and deeply believed that her own liberation (and her children’s) was not enough. She would not be pleased until every woman was able to have meaningful work and support their children through school.

My throat filled with unspoken anger and disappointment as our leadership and business class spent a day discussing the roles of women in Zambia. We heard about how women are “just stupider” than men, how giving up a seat on a bus shows they are respected and equal but giving up a store to a female child rather than a male child would be unheard of, and how Jesus was a male and the twelve disciples were all male, so obviously no woman should be a leader or have power. I hated seeing how the Bible was used as a tool of oppression rather than a tool of liberation, and how deeply ingrained traditions about gender roles still exist and confine women to inferior roles.

My mind fills with memories of laughter, dancing, peace, and beauty as I recount all the morning runs that let me see the long rays of sunlight bring light to a darkened town; as I remember sitting around the fire singing tunalewane lalelo musangia kalunga in one voice: Zambians and Americans united together; as I relive the opening of the Chilenga library and see the pride and excitement plastered on the faces of those receiving books for the first time in their lives.

I have seen the beauty of other-centered living, the depth of relationships, and the simplicity of valuing the non-monetary aspects of life that really matter. And I have also seen the messiness of politics and power plays from those leading a town, the hopelessness of those with no option, and the inability to treat every individual in a society with dignity and respect.

To truly love a place, we need to fully see it and know it—not just its pretty waterfalls or the sunset behind a pride of lion. Although parts of Zambezi challenged me and frustrated me to no end, I would choose that any day because I cherish being able to say I know and love Zambezi as a home.

Lindsey Hand, Class of 2017

Many of you know by now that we are no longer in Zambezi, but are safely in Livingstone. We left Zambezi on Wednesday, and have had a packed few days, including an overnight safari full of elephants, giraffes, hippos, and lions. Also, our hostel is great, but the wifi is suspect.

As we left Zambezi, our group was split for the two and a half hour flight with Katie making a surprise and extremely quick entrance when we realized that Andy’s flight was supposed to have five passengers who were still asleep at the convent, not the four who were packed and ready at the airstrip. Aaahhh, communication. Props to you, Katie. Our flight was scheduled to take off at 06 hours, so we were not sent off in proper Zambian fashion. There was no singing or dancing and no children surrounding us or yelling “Chindele!” With heavy hearts, experiencing one of the only low-key events to take place during our stay, we departed from the place that we called home for the last three weeks and that will forever hold a piece of our hearts. To cheer ourselves, we have been reflecting on ten of the funniest moments to happen on our journey thus far:

1. While still in Lusaka at the beginning of our journey, Josh insisted that we have dinner at a random curry restaurant which his friend had suggested. Curry in Zambia? A strange combination if you ask me, but we were all starving and eager to “lean in and say ‘yes.’” The restaurant was dark and could barely fit all of us, so it took nearly an hour and a half to get our food. We spent that time speculating how many of us would get food poisoning from the “Systematic Restaurant,” as it was called. Once we finally got our food, my table was left with no utensils. Curry is kind of hard to eat without utensils. You know what’s worse than waiting an hour and a half for your food? Waiting another twenty minutes for your fork. However, the funniest part of that evening had to be the restroom; we had to walk through a little passageway with a sink and head outside to find a small room with a toilet. LaShantay and I ventured out with a borrowed headlamp (side note, never forget your headlamp in Zambia). We kept the door open in case of rats, and when it was my turn to use the facilities, she started talking to me. I replied, “I can’t hear you. My pee is too loud.”

2. The rumors about huge and frightening African spiders are true and we came to encounter these creatures many, many times on our trip. Some of us are hardly even scared of spiders (or cockroaches) anymore. The first encounter happened on our first night in Lusaka, right after we checked in to the lodge we were to stay in. As a few of us were waiting to be shown to our rooms, we heard a cringe-worthy scream from a room full of male students. We exchanged nervous glances and concluded that they must have seen some kind of creepy-crawly thing. Turns out, it was a spider and Collin is scared of spiders. They also fessed up to jumping on their beds for fear of an attack. I had my own encounter with an enormous African spider during an emergency visit to the toilet. The lid was up when I went in, but I closed it after finishing up only to find out that the biggest spider I’ve ever seen was right behind my back the entire time. He easily could have attacked me, so I screamed. Venezia came to check on me in the bathroom because she heard me from down the hall. I never put the lid down again for fear of seeing more spiders.

3. One of our first cultural immersions was seeing the Makishi dancers of the Luvale people. That was an experience itself that ought to be tackled in another post. However, Father Dominic, one of our cultural guides, provided some comic relief by introducing us to his friend Brian as, “This is my friendship Brian.” From then on, none of us were friends, but rather we were “friendships.” He also spent the night wearing a strange headband that looked like a diaper on his head and passing it around to strangers. Sometimes the tailors here don’t quite understand what you’re looking for. I apologize in advance to friends and family that receive souvenirs made of chitenge, good intentions, and interesting construction.

4. Zambezi is filled with flattened, dried up chameleons. One day, a small group of people went for a walk, and—unbeknownst to the rest of us—brought back one of these creatures. It happened to be my day to write the group journal, and when I went to read aloud what I had written during reflection, I let out a piercing scream and threw the book on the floor. I was so shocked and overcome with laughter that I couldn’t answer any of the “What happened?” questions that came rolling in. Maryclare picked up the book and opened it, repeating my act. This time, the chameleon flew out of the book onto the floor, exposing itself to the room. I belly-laughed for a good three minutes while Nick picked it up with his bare fingers. The chameleon continued to make the rounds throughout the week, hiding under a breakfast plate one time and between a stack of readings another. Father Dom then told us it was probably poisonous because a snake bit it (he was likely joking), then played football (soccer) with it through the kitchen. He got distracted and left it on the floor until some brave soul taped it to the wall where it remained for the next two weeks, a constant reminder to be ever aware of your surroundings.

5. Zambians like to give gifts to their visitors. These gifts are often food items and are sometimes still alive. In total, we received five chickens (Hannah got one of her own) and FOUR goats. Each time was comical in itself, but the first left us with some casualties. We left the goat tied up under the seat and the chicken with its legs tied in the vehicle while we crossed the bridge at Chiningyi after leaving Dipalata. Somehow, the goat got loose! We came back to a terrified goat, a chicken with its feathers a bit ruffled, and a jacket and bag covered in farm-animal fecal matter. Trying to get the goat tied back up while getting four people with unstable digestive systems back home was interesting. Props to Logan for being the goat master.

6. The plague. What more can I say? We had twelve out of nineteen students suffer from the Zambezi plague during our stay, and I think we all suffered from some unfortunate digestive issues. In almost all cases, it was a simple 24-hour stomach bug. While the illness in itself was not funny at all, the fact that an anonymous student fessed up to sharting caused a roar of laughter. Perhaps more remarkable is the fact that a normal and completely not-awkward conversation for us usually consisted of some reference to our bodily functions. My roommates and I often fell asleep to talk of such things and thought nothing was odd about it. Seems that no matter how old we get, potty humor is never not funny.

7. If you haven’t figured it out by now, Zambians really like to sing and dance, and find many occasions to do so, including when welcoming guests, around a bonfire, when saying goodbye to guests, and when dedicating a library. At the library dedication at Chileña, the GU students were required to perform a song and dance as well. Most of us are not skilled in the performing arts, whatsoever, and we struggled to come up with a song. “Uptown Funk” was tossed around, but deemed inappropriate for a Zambian crowd. Somehow, we settled on the classic “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” for which only about three of us knew the words. The night before the event was spent frantically trying to learn lyrics and a dance, but there was no way we could impress a Zambian with our moves, or lack-there-of. During the performance, the music kept cutting out, we forgot the words, and they tried to get us to stop, it was that bad. Not to fear, we persevered through the song with no background music and received a hearty pity clap from the crowd. At least we can laugh at ourselves, right?

8. I have been blessed with the ability to fall asleep anywhere, but I personally have provided a great deal of laughter for the group because I have not been blessed with the ability to stay awake anywhere. Seriously, I can’t control it. Shelby continuously tells me that there is something wrong with me, because whenever anyone looks my direction during an extended period of sitting (more than five minutes) or just about any time after the sun has gone down, I’m sporting the sleepy eyes and rockin’ the head jerks. Jeff and Josh, I promise it’s nothing personal!

9. Reflection is a time at night where we sit in candlelight and discuss readings and challenges. While it is very meaningful (I think; I’m usually asleep), it also provides for some great laughs. For example, we all got a good laugh out of Jeff’s face turning purple from laughing so hard at an off-handed remark that Shelby made. One night, Katie was in the middle of making a remark when she let out some gas. “Sorry, I farted,” she said and continued on nonchalantly. A joke that continues outside of reflection is the sassy nicknames bestowed upon Jennifer and Shelby, Jenny and Shelly, respectively, during a sarcastic skiff between the two. Last, but not least, was Shelby splitting her chitenge pants while striking a yoga pose.

10. To preface the final recollection, there is a Zambian tradition of pouring water over the head of a person having a birthday. It was necessary that we orchestrate this happening for Nick’s recent birthday. We managed to pull it off, but not without Shelby accidentally hit him in the head with the bucket while pouring water on him. Oops.

Our time together in Zambia is coming to a close, but we are continuing to reflect together on the funny, blessed, and challenging moments that we have had thus far, and we are embracing the remaining moments that we have.

Blessings to you all and see you in just a few days,

Lauren Benedict, Class of 2015

P.S. We were able to fly over Victoria Falls on our way in to Livingstone. Just seeing it from the air made me sure of its standing as one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Exploring it in person on Thursday proved to be just as magnificent and provided us with many more funny stories, including baboon attacks!

P.P.S. We’ll have one final post from Livingstone tonight, so stay tuned!

We are told to come to Zambia with no expectations.

Sitting around in the Reed Mat Lodge on our first night in Zambia, we reflected on our expectations for our Africa experience. Many of us suggested that we were coming in with only the expectation to learn and others with no expectations at all, but I am realizing more than ever the truth of my own comment the sentiment of which many had shared: “I’m sure I have expectations that I don’t yet realize, but as of now I’m trying to go in without any expectations.” As hard as I tried to not expect anything and jump into everything with all my effort, somehow on our last day in Zambezi I can call to mind over fifty expectations that have not been met.

In our class last semester while still at Gonzaga Josh spoke of relationships we will build in the community and the one friend we will grow inseparably close with, our “Zambian Best Friend.” While this was most definitely not the way it was presented, in the process of telling stories of past experiences of this trip, many of us painted this picture. We somehow ignored the constant reminder that there is not only one formula to this trip.

When Venezia and I attempted to prepare the computers we were planning to bring with us, we struggled to figure out how to log onto and upload the typing software. As Josh jokingly scoffed at our capabilities I asked him if he was sure he chose the right people for the computer team. In that moment he reminded us that teaching computers is not about teaching computers, it is about building relationships.

I now realize that was my expectation coming into this trip. I planned to build lasting relationships with both students and the Zambians in my classes.

In attempts to take in all of Josh’s advice and must see/dos in Zambia, somewhere along the way I fell into the trap of building surface level relationships and connecting with people to fulfill my quota of sights, smells, and connections. Some of these included creating funny homestay memories, meeting someone who lives in a bush village, purchasing presents for family and friends, getting a cold drink from George’s shop, engaging with our students, and much more.

When we arrived in Zambia we began to question our abilities even more, as we discovered that there would be 76 students in four classes each day. We had planned for 45 to 50 students in three classes each day. We quickly replaced our worries with the realization of a greater possibility of building relationships with more students. Unfortunately, we quickly realized that with very little time in between classes there was little time to build relationships with students.

I began to grow discouraged by the lack of opportunity to connect with a student further than “hello” and “good job” when they learned a new technique. One day I looked over at a student who was engaged in his cell phone while he waited for computer time. Looking around to see no hands in the air begging for my attention, I took the opportunity to engage in conversation. I talked with him about his day and about the leadership class he was taking from our students. Organically, the situation became one in which Ramson stayed after class each day and we talked for about a half hour.

I thought this might be my chance to make a connection, but I grew frustrated with the surface level of our conversation. I was feeling the pressure when Josh asked us to invite one of our friends from the community to the accompaniment lunch. This is a lunch designed to bring together students and their cultural guide, a person in the community who has helped enrich their experience. Essentially we were expected to have made our “Zambian Best Friend.” Despite the conversations Ramson and I had had, I still did not feel a stronger relationship growing with this 23-year-old Zambian. With the invite deadline approaching I invited him on a whim. That Sunday night dinner created the perfect platform for diving into deeper conversation. Away from the classroom and some of the other students, we finally carried our conversation to deeper topics, talking about the way he grew up, the goals he has to support orphans through school and to empower a younger generation to succeed. That night he was the last to leave and even as we walked to the gate it was hard to end our conversation.

Yesterday I finally got the opportunity to ask him to join me for a coke in the market. Ignoring the fact that dinner was in an hour, I took the leap to embrace this relationship. I realized that if we were going to get past the awkward conversations then we just had to get through them. On my second to last day in town I finally got the opportunity to explore more of Zambezi as he took me by his Aunt’s house where he was staying and around the neighborhood.

It is frustrating to feel that I have finally begun to build a relationship and we have to leave in the morning. Through this development I have come to recognize that simply asking questions and truly listening for the answers can bring about relationships over time. When I finally stopped worrying about doing my job of teaching computers and truly gave in to letting someone get to know me and I them, I was able to let go of my expectations of the relationships I would build and let them actually happen.

Although I have yet to ride an ox cart or play checkers with the man outside in the market I can look at the experiences I have had and recognize my growth.

Peace and Blessings,

Maryclare O’Brien-Wilson, Class of 2017

The Engineers with Samson, Elijah, and Mama Rachael (a filter recipient)

As we finish up the last days here in Zambezi, I reflect back on the unexpected experiences I have had so far, changing the way I look at the world with its issues and its hopes. I have gained understanding in areas that were previously unknown to me and struggled to know other experiences.

I now understand what it feels like to be in the minority. I understand standing out because of my skin color. I understand the confusion of completely not understanding the local language. I understand that getting laughed at for attempting Lunda or Luvale does not always mean that I suck at it, and if it does, I understand that that’s ok. I have been exposed to these situations for the first time and although I do not have complete comprehension, these things carry me forward on my journey toward growth and self-awareness.

What I still don’t understand is the absence, or inconsistency, of thought about the necessity of clean water. Last week, the engineers (Collin, Reilly and I) worked with an organization called Seeds of Hope. This is an organization that has developed a technology to clean drinking water. It is a small scale in-home slow sand filter. We went to two villages, Lishipa and Mize, to deliver the 22 filters that were purchased for the project. We were accompanied by Seeds of Hope staff Samson and Elijah. I saw their passion for Seeds of Hope in some distinct and inspiring ways. Elijah told me his story in the driver’s seat of the truck as we headed to Mize. He had been a man far from God when he decided to turn his life toward Christ and eventually found his way to Seeds of Hope. He shows a love for serving God and others. Samson described to us, as we crossed the Zambezi River in a thin, hand-dug wooden canoe, the fact that only a very small percentage of the Zambian government’s budget is dedicated to sanitation, while a good portion of it was dedicated to health. He emphasized the fact that if more were spent on prevention rather than treatment, Zambia could be a more healthy country. He was fired up and knew exactly what he was talking about. Both of these committed men fueled my views on why clean drinking water is so important and needed.

Mama Rachael with her bio-sand water filter

The people in the villages surrounding Zambezi generally get their water from shallow wells or bore holes. These two sources of water are open to the atmosphere and are very susceptible to contamination. In the engineering class that we teach in the afternoons we gave some paddle water tests to our students to take home and pour water over. After receiving the results of our bacteria tests, it was evident that in the water that our students had tested there was plenty of bacteria present. This was true for primarily the tests done with water from shallow wells or bore holes, but even some of the tap water samples indicated positive results.

In some ways I expected to come to Zambia and have people be specifically aware of their need for clean water, but mostly we saw blank stares or curious faces when we educated on the critical need to make sure water is safe before drinking. The issue of the lack of clean water goes much deeper, revealing social issues involving practicality of their current methods of cleaning water and public opinion about its quality. Even when the communities did know that their water was at times dirty, they did not very often understand how important it was to boil or filter it. This action could work wonders in a community that sees multiple cases of diarrhea in a week.

I technically understand that there are difficulties to always cleaning the water. This comes partially in the form of a lack of knowledge, as at times the water may look pathogen-free despite the presence of contaminants. I can also see that it is a lot of work to boil water every time you want to use some. However, I struggle to understand how there is little connection between the amount of illness that the vulnerable face and the contamination of the water. A common myth that we heard when delivering filters was that the reason for diarrhea in babies was that they are teething. Samson brought this up while we were doing the educational portion of the installation and just about every woman nodded in agreement. It was hard for me to believe the predominance of this myth, but as I think about it I realize that we have similar myths in the US. We have used wives tales for years in our history to explain phenomena that we could not figure out. Although sometimes it seems as though we are not contributing enough to the Zambezi community, the knowledge that we are sharing changes these prominent myths and also changes the lifestyles of the people. When we were teaching a group of community members in Nsangula, the headwomen’s face shone with a smile as she clapped in appreciation. She pointed out to us how the valuable information of the importance of water filtration and of how to tell if a baby was dehydrated was going to improve the habits and health of those she was leading.

Although the lack of knowledge about water borne illnesses and importance of cleaning drinking water is something I have a hard time wrapping my head around, I do see people in remote areas taking strides toward a healthier water situation. I see community leaders set on informing those around them to make their water safe. I see an overall desire for improvement, even though it may not be immediate. And I see Zambians valuing improvement in technology and education, like the slow sand filters, to make their water cleaner for their community. I hope as I continue to reflect and analyze all of the data that I have taken in so far, I can see through the eyes of the Zambian community and walk with them to establishing safer drinking water.

I have met some pretty amazing people here who inspire me to be a better engineer and person. I can’t wait to form these hints of understanding into actions and attitudes as I return to the US. And to Zambezi, I am intrigued by you and will miss your presence in my daily life, but I will never forget the lessons that you have taught me. Thank you.

Kisu Mwane,

Allie Reiling

Class of 2016