Gonzaga-in-Zambezi

We are only half way through our trip in Zambia and I already have had the experience of a lifetime. From the second we stepped off the plane I found myself trying to explain to others how I am in fact not Jason (a former Gonzaga Student who visited Zambia), Chris Brown, or a relative of Barak Obama -_-. Perhaps I should have joked around with the people about who I am, but unfortunately sarcasm only seems to create more confusion than you really want to deal with. Not only have I found myself trying to explain my own identity while in Zambia, but I also have found myself as an example of American diversity to other Zambian people. When asked “do you have any Africans in America?,” a member of the group quickly replied to that question comically by saying “Why yes we do, we actually brought one.” Of course their response would be referring to me in which case all I can do is sit there, shake my head, and laugh.

While these few instances may have been a more light hearted thing, there have been many moments in which I have been unable to completely understand or at times even convey the many questions that constantly come across my mind. To make things even worse, the explanations that I do have for a small amount of these questions only give me what I feel as a partial comfort to the actual truth.  In other words these explanations are only patchwork to ease my mind for a short time. It’s only a matter of time before I find these patched up questions coming back to the forefront of my mind. Perhaps if I was a person who takes more steps to accurately reflect upon my day such as journaling, talking to others, or merely just laying still in my thoughts I could find more explanations that will ultimately find some clarity to these questions. Alas this would be something that I would personally find a bit of a stretch. Fortunately I was able to find a little a bit of clarity within the last couple of days.

This last weekend we got the privilege to spend time in a small town called Dipalata. To put it mildly, our experience there was quite humbling as the community lacked electricity, running water, and paved roads.  My initial experience with this community did nothing more than bring even more questions and even some undesired stomach issues that almost definitely detracted from my ability to enjoy the full experience of Dipalata. The timing for this sickness was the worst possible for me. Somehow through the illnesses that hit some at the convent in Zambezi, I was able to completely fight off all of them until we came to the one place where man really meets nature. Dipalata.  For me this whole trip just became the roughest part of my experience in Zambia and the pit toilets, mosquitoes, and very hot weather offered no comfort to me as the stomach issues continued to progress. Yet through the unfortunate circumstance of this experience I somehow found a moment of peace on this trip that I had not yet been able to actually experience on this entire journey. Now before you try to guess where this moment of peace was; no, this is not one of those moments of peace that you can find on the porcelain throne. This moment of peace gave me just a little bit of clarity that ultimately eased my mind a bit as perhaps a few of these questions that I had, whether it be one that I can articulate or not, were finally answered. That Saturday night, after we got to see some of the things that make Dipalata so beautiful, and a missionary’s house that gave us just a little taste of the life that we know back in the good ol’ USA, we found ourselves gathered around a campfire. The Gonzaga students and faculty and the community of Dipalata, began to sing songs and enjoy each others’ company. To be honest we mostly let them sing the songs as they had instruments and what sounded like an orchestrated choir singing to us while all we had were the good willed attempts of singing a few songs in Lunda and Luvale and some mash ups of American music, including a song by Smashmouth. Of course, my illness kept my singing spirits at bay, and all I found myself doing was watching the singing festivities occur in front of my eyes. This lack of participation somehow offered a silver lining. It made me very observant to what was going on around me, especially to the glowing fire in front of me and the bright twinkling stars hanging above in the night sky. For me, this was a moment of awe and wonderment as a sight like this doesn’t happen very often for us in the United States because of the ever-present light pollution. It was a moment to see the beauty of God’s creation. This complex night sky offered up a sight of a billion stars and cosmos that we haven’t even begun to fully understand as we study every heavenly body with a keen eye and yet when looking at it from afar it just all seems so simple.

After staring at this sky for a few minutes I caught my gaze moving back down to the singing and the campfire that illuminated all the smiling and happy faces of the people there. There was something different about everything in this moment. For this very instant, all of these happy faces and the accompaniment that each one of us shared seemed to break down barriers and worries that we so often keep on our minds. In that instant everything seemed so simple, and the only word that could be used for that very moment was happy. It was in this moment that I got reminded of something that too often I forget, especially when comparing our lives to theirs. Instead of looking at our lives and defining happiness by what we have, how comfortable we are, and our relationships, we just need to define our happiness by the relationships and communities in which we have. I’m not saying that I selfishly believe that the only way to define happiness is by the things that we have but it’s an unfortunate fact that we all get this very idea engrained into our minds by the very fortune of living in the United States. It is a blessing to be living in the United States but is also a curse as the country has become so much more materialistic and less about connections with others. These people in this poor community may not have everything that they could possible want or need physically, but what they do have is each other and that’s quite all right. They were happy before we got there and they will be happy when they leave. Even though we may be here trying to impart a little bit of our knowledge on to them what we really need to do is meet them at their happiness and that is to just create relationships with the people of Zambia.

Before I finish this post I also want to add that while in Dipalata we were honored to be given a goat as a parting gift. Needless to say, we are going to have one heck of a meal and his name is definitely fitting of his purpose. After some good thought we decided to name him Will Stew, we hope he will live up to his name. Kisu Mwane.

Chris Frager, Class of 2016

I’ll begin by admitting that I was the first to mess with the blog schedule…sorry everyone! I actually became very sick on Tuesday night, worse than I can ever remember (don’t worry Mom and Dad, I am very well now!). I am blessed to have Susan, Conner and the rest of our Zamily. I would have been much more miserable if it weren’t for their constant comfort.

Spending the day in bed gave me time to listen and think and observe the daily grind here at the convent, reminding me what an incredible place we are living in, and with such a wonderful group.  It’s nearly impossible to translate my feelings into words on a blog, let alone choose one of the plethora of ideas swimming in my mind.  I know these reflections will not be complete until long after I return home. I have experienced moments of both unhindered joy and deep sorrow, and have already felt the fruitfulness of living in another culture.  Though we are studying abroad through Gonzaga’s leadership program, I realize I haven’t thought about leadership on a daily basis.  Maybe it’s because the traditional definition of top-down leadership isn’t applicable or appropriate here.  Through my year at GU and now through the people I am spending time with here in Zambezi, more and more I’m coming to believe that servant leadership is about meeting needs.

Our work here in Zambia is less about “us” teaching “them” and more about reciprocity – everyone teaching one another.  Meeting needs as a servant leader in this way is not what I’d expected.  I’ve been discouraged at times by my inability to fully love each of the dozens of children who need a hand to hold.  I must remind myself of the more complex needs I am called to address while in Zambezi and its surrounding villages.  A servant leader who is committed to meeting needs should think critically about her time, resources and goals when choosing how she serves.  Successfully meeting needs is not simply providing resources where resources are lacking; it requires a certain awareness, willingness and love that dares to cross borders.  She must give, and she must humbly receive.  Sometimes she needs to step forward, sometimes take a step back.

Meeting the need happens when you accept the never-ending generosity of Mama Gertrude during your homestay.  You follow Gertrude’s authentic nshima recipe over hot coals under the stars.  You feel somewhat like you’ve intruded upon the lives of the six people living in a modest home, but they tell you over and over yes, yes please, thank you, you are welcome. You are welcome here.  You eat with her family without lifting a finger and sleep in her cleaned bed and bathe in the warm water she spent an hour preparing for you.  Together you walk to church, sing and dance your heart out and you and Gertrude laugh from your belly with all the other Zambians in response to your awkward dance attempts.  You thank her ten times over, knowing fully that your thanksgiving will never repay all she gave to you.

It’s when you’re dancing for an hour in a village circle with twelve-year-old Micha shaking your groove thang and wholeheartedly laughing till your face hurts and your feet are brown with dust and you’re darn tired, all because you know you simply need to say yes in that moment.  You tell Micha to stay in school and work hard and she is going to change the world.  When you say goodbye she calls you sister and you know that you’ve touched each other in a lasting way, although you’ll never meet again.  The fatigue of that evening readily gave way to the need for fellowship, and your fellowship was fruitful.

It’s even when you’re walking down a dusty path in Dipalata.  The homesick feeling starts to take root. You could easily close into your circling thoughts, yet you must command yourself to remain where you are, to dwell on the river and the smiles and the lush scenery. You choose to remain open because the nature of this place and these vibrant people demand your attention.  You begin to snap pictures of a few children, and this ends in an episode of funny faces and giggles and running.  You stepped forward into the opportunity and met a need you had no idea was waiting.

It’s when you find yourself in a huddle of children reading “Whoever You Are” after a few girls pleaded for a story.  Your reading captivates the children. The young boy at your side quietly starts to read. You encourage him to keep reading, he and you switching back and forth rhythmically in unspoken understanding. You are mesmerized by the boy’s confident, measured, melodic words and for some reason your soul is filled to the brim.  You gave what the children needed; they unknowingly gave it right back to you.

You’ve no idea what will be required of you upon arriving in Nsangula.  Your group has come with lessons in nutrition and childcare. You sit in chairs under a shady tree in the breeze as your students gather around.  A short while into the lesson your group looks beyond the immediate audience and suddenly notices the sprawling crowd that has gathered, at least two hundred men, women and children.  Your lesson is now a village-wide event.  The people are hungry for information, willing to listen and deeply grateful for your presence in their secluded community.  You decide to rise to the challenge—literally you rise out of your chair to speak the message burning in your heart, telling the community with slow deliberation that they are the leaders who can make a change in their community, in Zambia, and that you want the girls to stay in school and study hard and do great things.  You were not prepared for this soapbox moment, you do not feel competent in this position, but somehow they handed it to you and you stepped forward.

Being a servant leader in Zambia is challenging, and the things we are called to give and receive are hard.  Sometimes I am set on a pedestal of undeserved power and reverence I never asked for; these are the times I need to accept my position and give all I have.  Other times I am overwhelmed by the unrelenting generosity of these wholesome people; in these humbling moments I must keep receiving.  Whether the need at hand is to give or to receive, leaning inward with love for the people around you, I feel, is the beginning of servant leadership.  Often I believe the Zambians are stronger servant leaders than myself, exuding such a fullness of self-assurance, trust in those they are serving, and endless love.  I will continue to admire and learn from the Zambians’ incredible hospitality that amounts to a love greater than I’ve even attempted.

“To whom much has been given, much is required” (Luke 12:48).  Giving and receiving here in Zambia is not only challenging, but paradoxical.  Our blessings of education and resources and more compel us to serve those who are less fortunate, as a few students have already talked about.  But here we are in Zambia, receiving abundantly everyday from those we came to serve.  The people have very little, yet they give and they praise Jesus and then they give more.  Their generosity compels me to give on a larger scale. I pray I can carry on the light these people have sparked.

Love and hugs to all my friends and family back home.  To Mom, Dad and Christian, I hope the move went well and give Mia an extra treat for me.  I miss all you people like crazy and cannot wait to share stories in more depth once we return.

Much love and kisu mwane,

Savannah Bukant, Class of 2015

We’ve only been in Zambezi a little over a week now and it has already been filled with many new adventures, challenges, and insights. I would be lying if I said I haven’t had moments of homesickness, but shortly following every one of these moments I am somehow reminded of how grateful I am to be here.

Prior to this trip, my cultural immersion So … I’ve had some adjusting to do, and I’ve made a few social blunders along the way. For your comedic benefit:

Incident 1: Dinner

I was the first of the group to be Mama Kawatu’s helper in the kitchen. When she asked me what we should make for dinner, I replied pretty ordinarily “chicken and rice.” I soon learned that this implies a stroll to the market to pick out some living poultry for dinner. Upon our return to the convent, mama presented me the dull butcher knife in one hand, the squirming chicken in the other, and gave me the go ahead. Needless to say, she had WAY more confidence in my butchering abilities than she should have. I’ll spare you the graphic details, but I struggled to finish the job as the chicken bled and seized in my hand. I had to call mama in for reinforcement on that one.

Incident 2: Church

Sunday was our first church service in Zambezi. Somewhere in the middle of the mass everyone stood and began to line up at the altar. Unaccustomed to their traditions, I assumed it was time for communion. But this line was for offering, and I was up there with no money. Too late to bail, I ever-so-smoothly pretended to slip some cash through the offering slot. I thought I was pretty sly, until later when the entire Zamfam mocked me for my obvious blunder.

Incident 3: Home Stays

Come breakfast time at the Simonga’s home, I poured myself a glass of juice, thinking this was a safe bet as far as Zambian food goes. I bet wrong. I took my first gulp and my heart nearly stopped. The family eventually taught us that the correct proportions of this drink are one tablespoon of juice, to one GLASS of water. Naturally, I tried to pawn it off on Christine. She took one sip and handed it back. I was hoping she’d be willing to take one for the team. Forcing myself to choke down at least half of it, I feared I was falling closer into a diabetic coma with every sip.

That’s enough stories of me being a crazy chindele (or white person). Every ignorant, embarrassing moment I’ve had while adjusting here can be doubled by an insightful, or humbling moment I’ve encountered, so I’ll share just a few…

Insight 1: Misconceptions

Americans often have some preconceived ideas about third world countries, at least I did. We hear about the poverty and feel sympathetic, often accompanied by the thought of wanting to fix it. What that usually means is leading them towards our progressive, American lifestyle. Aiding them only to become more like us seems like a crime to me. Within the simple life Zambians lead, most are able to find great joy. It’s quite beautiful. Why would we want to mess with that? How many Americans can truly admit they live a life of joy?

Insight 2: Steadfast Faith

Bessie, one of Josh’s Zambian friends, visited for dinner the other night. One of the dinner topics discussed were the socio-economic classes of the Zambezi people. She described them as poor, poorer, and the poorest. Also touching on the severe HIV/AIDS problem, Bessie brought to our attention the prevalence of orphaned people here.

By American standards, we might expect these people to be depressed and discontent. This doesn’t seem to be the case. I attribute this joy to their unshakable faith in God. I am inspired by their trust in the Lord and the ever-present role it plays in their everyday lives. On the first day of leadership class, we began going over the syllabus and were shortly interrupted by a student wishing to pray prior to starting the material. Mr. Simonga prayed for Christine and me shortly after inviting us into his home. The only explanation I can think of for their overwhelming joy has to be their undeniable faith in a gracious and loving God.

Insight 3: Unmatched generosity

The first day we were here, I ran to the market to buy some eggs for mama. After getting half way there, I realized that I should have asked her the proper price for eggs prior to disembarking. As such an obvious target, I assumed I was about to get ripped off. I bought the eggs after being told they cost 30 kwatcha. Upon return to the convent, I learned from mama I was sold the proper price.

Why should I be surprised by this? Why don’t I give all people the benefit of the doubt that they are fair and generous? Why is it that my world back home has taught me to distrust people’s motives? Why are people so willing to do anything to get ahead? Why does American have such a fixation on money and wealth?

This same day at the market, a 20 kwacha bill unknowingly slipped out of my pocket. A woman chased me down to return my money. This simple example only solidifies the kindness I am trying to convey.

To wrap things up…I know I’ve only scratched the surface of my lessons from Zambia. I’m confident they will continue to be revealed to me even far after I leave. For now, I am amazed by this joyful, generous, and resilient group of people. I realize that I am so blessed to be in this beautiful place that is so full of love, culture, and room to grow. I am surrounded by a fabulous Zamily, to whom I am thankful I can share my experiences.

Love and miss you all at home!

Morgan Harry, Class of 2016

PROGRAMMING NOTE:  We were having some internet issues that we believe have been resolved, so blog postings should be more reliable (except this weekend when we travel to Dipilata).  Now, on to Helen’s blog (happy birthday!!)

We are getting into our rhythm here. Our stomachs are adjusting to new cuisine, our brains to the new form of alarm clock, our skin to the direct sun, and our hearts to temporary family here in Zambezi. I can second all of the wonderful things that my fellow Zags have blogged about the Zambian people and the uninhibited love they have thrust upon us since landing in Zambezi. I have no doubt that the world would be a different place if we all put as much heart into a single thing as the Zambian people put into everything.

 Their mentality of care for other people has intensified an idea that struck me one morning when I realized that the only mirror I have seen since we got here is the handheld one we brought: the Zambian people don’t seem to take interest in surfaces, as we tend to do when we look into a mirror. From what I have seen they don’t value the fluff and ornament that we seem to privilege so highly. They focus their attention on essential human relationships.Our attention is the greatest thing that we can give to someone or something.

The students in our leadership class come each day eager to learn and participate fully in every activity. On the second day of class I couldn’t believe the effort that each student had put into the homework assignment. I immediately found myself questioning my abilities and wondering, “who am I to be assigning homework and ‘teaching’ these individuals who are twice my age and who have more wisdom and strength than I probably ever will?” I later came to realize that this contemplation can go one of two ways:

Who I am to be in this position?

or,

Who am I to not be in this position?

The former places all of the attention on myself: my lack of wisdom, my lack of experience, and my lack strength. It fails to recognize that the people in front of me are just as deserving of everything I have. The latter focuses my attention equally on the individuals in the class—whom I am here to serve—and myself—who my new friends are serving sorichly. The privilege I was born into has given me a responsibility to share the knowledge and education I have received for no other reason than because there are people in positions around the world deserving of and eager for this knowledge.

I had a Zambian tell me the other day that he believes Americans are the most lonely people in the world because in a country of 320 million people we feel connected if we have a cell phone and companionship if we own a pet—two things I will admit to giving a large amount of attention to.I give a good majority of the greatest thing I have to give, my attention, to an electronic device and a four-legged ball of energy and gas (Love you, Tate). I could easily expand this list to a hundred things that I give my attention to that when stripped away have little significance to me. This façade of contentment causes us to become complacent, and I find my attention again falls easily to the other comforts of life rather than the very people right in front of me.

Taking the time to step away from my normal has helped me realize that for every misconception we have of Zambia or of Africa in general, they have one of America. And for every thing missing here, there is something of equal value missing at home.

Cheers,

Helen Reinecke, Class of ‘15

P.S. Mom and Dad, 21 awesome years later. . .thank you for everything. Miss and love you guys. Still under the same moon.Xoxo

Nothing! Absolutely nothing! The constant dirt between my toes and cold showers? Nothing. The ant walking across my hand or the spider, clearly on steroids, above my bed? Nothing. Killing and plucking my first chicken? Nope. Nothing! These otherwise odd experiences have become my new normal. So where is my big Zambia experience hiding?!

Each morning we read the blog post from the night before. While I am moved by their words, I cannot help but feel envious of my peer’s abilities to put words to their powerful experiences. We have been here in Zambia for a week now. Looking back, I fear I have not wrestled with those life-changing questions. There may have been a shock at first, but one week later I find myself comfortable here. I have my routine; I have my safe space.

Maybe the problem lies in the safety of the convent. I have made my Little America here in these concrete walls. If I chose to, I could live in my Little America and be blind to the beauty and the tragedy of Zambezi. I have brought the blessing and the curse of living in a techno-savy America where I can close my eyes and shut out the problems of the world, but the very experiences I am searching for would also continue to elude me. Much like Heisenberg’s observer effect where the thing you are trying to measure is obscured by the very act of measuring, I wonder if the irony lies in the very act of looking for the experience or waiting for the experience to hit me in the face. Yesterday, we read “We See from Where We Stand” by David Diggs. After years of work in Haiti, he sees most American service volunteers as American refugees hungering for meaning in their lives. Am I that refugee?

In living with the Zambian people and immersing myself in their culture, I feel a sense of normalcy. Even though it may have been an awkward transition at first, saying class begins at 15 hours rather than 3 o’clock or that I am a 4^th year at University rather than a senior in college or adopting little parts of Lunda or Luvale in my speech have all become a new normal.

Maybe I am forcing my experience to be something it is not. Maybe I do not have all the puzzle pieces to see the full picture. Maybe the culture shock or the revelation of my experience thus far has been simply noticing that their life and their culture is not as foreign as I thought. Imagine that: I have traveled thousands of miles to a foreign country to discover people living out their human existence.

So what about this life-altering experience I have been searching for? Have I taken enough risks? Am I too comfortable to feel it? Is looking for an experience counter-intuitive to having an experience? Why am I so intent on placing meaning to my experience? Each day, more questions seem to spring up where one was answered. As I try to make sense of the experiences I have, I take comfort in knowing that answering these questions will be my life’s work.

Christine Ngan, Class of 2015

After a few days in a place where time seems to stand still, I find myself forgetting what day we arrived here.  That may be a sign that we have finally started to feel comfortable here in Zambezi. We are outsiders — every searching stare, every joyous laugh as we mispronounce a name, every hand outstretched just to touch us — reminds us of just how differently we are viewed here than in America. Yet, through all the differences, we have carved our niche here. We adjust to a new normal, displaying skills of resilience and adaptation that make many of us feel more free than we ever could have imagined.

On Sunday we learned what it’s like to live with a Zambian family and participate in a local cultural event (Sunday Mass). Today we poked our noses deeper into the Zambian life, engaging in our first days of teaching with the Zambian community. The health, literacy, computer and leadership groups all put their five months of preparation into practice.  We soon realized that every reflection from past Zambia Zags was true: As much as you prepare, Zambezi always finds a way to surprise you. While that may be the main theme of our time here so far, here are six lessons I’ve learned along the way:

6. You don’t know a true welcome until you have experienced a Zambian welcome.  Probably the most common phrases here are “You are welcome here,” “Welcome to Zambezi,” and “Feel at home.” Perhaps my favorite phrase the Zambians use is “Feel free.” In America, we love to say that phrase too, but we complicate it by saying “feel free” to do something specific: “Feel free to grab a cookie” or “Feel free to look around.” In Zambia, you can just feel free — without specifications or caveats.  Everything is simpler here, and even the language reflects it.

5. Not only does the “feel free” attitude apply to lifestyle, but it applies to material goods as well.  Today, when some of us went to the market, we came back home with free gifts of a watermelon and a stick of sugarcane so long I could have pole vaulted with it. Our host family offered nearly a whole chicken, a whole fish, nshima and much more for us when we stayed with him, and his whole family waited to eat until after we had gone to bed. Mark, my fellow Zag who stayed in a very simple home far from town, told us about how his family told him they couldn’t even afford Coke — and followed up the comment by offering each one of their Zag guests a Coke for breakfast.

4. The degree of esteem that most of the people in Zambezi gives us is both a blessing and curse.  Whether that respect comes from the relationships Josh and past Zags have built here, or whether that comes from the fact that chindeles (western/white people) stand in such stark contrast to the Zambezi community, it forces us to be wary of our actions in a way many of us have never experienced before. No Gonzaga Study Abroad presentation can prepare us for the number of eyes that will be on us during almost every moment. That can be seen as pressure, but I prefer to see it as a challenge to rise to the occasion and be a person whose actions are worthy of such respect.

3. Patience is key. With almost every name you learn here, you have to ask each person two or more times how to pronounce it. You must wait quite a while for people to show up for classes, since we’re on laid-back “Zambia time.”  Most importantly, you have to be willing to field question after question. During our homestay, our host was shy to the point that the word “shy” doesn’t quite do him justice. Yet he answered every single one of the thousands of questions we asked him. It’s our challenge to model that attitude, since our mission here is a combined one of teaching and learning. We must be willing to foster an atmosphere of learning that encourages questions and doesn’t downplay them as annoyances.

2. This isn’t the first time we’ve noted this on the blog, but the number of children here is astounding. Mama Bessie, the superintendent of the schools in Zambezi, told us tonight that there are 20,000 children in the 110 schools in the area. As Josh discussed during our reflection last night, we must be intentional about seeing kids as more than a backdrop — as more than just an overwhelming presence waiting to swarm us whenever we venture outside the convent gates. We must see them as individuals with their own stories. As a teacher at Chilenga Basic School, I must be intentional to see children as they truly are — beings of infinite worth and potential whose care I am entrusted with during the hours I am welcomed to teach.

I also feel a challenge to be especially kind in my interactions with young Zambian girls. As Mama Bessie pointed out tonight, there may be 20 percent of Zambian men who treat their wives with respect.  She believes the rest treat women more like house slaves.  They believe that the women’s place is in the kitchen and force their wives to cook and clean for them, even when some of the men lie around drunk all day.  The power structure is very male-oriented here, but if we treat a young Zambian girl with respect, maybe she will be less willing to put up with a man who treats her like a slave when she’s older. That is my hope and my desperate prayer.

1. At the end of the day, we learn to adapt to life here. My left big toe is inflamed and infected, and I have come to terms with the fact that I need to soak it in hot saltwater every night. When the shower water comes out as a trickling stream of 45 degree water, you learn to nut up, strip down and get yourself clean. I didn’t go a day without my protein bars this entire semester, but I’ve already gone three full days without one — and thanks to some divine providence, I’m doing just fine. I also stand here as a witness that two grown college boys can fit into a twin bed (thanks to Chris for putting up with me during the homestay), and that when you take college students away from their cell phones, the world does not implode. In fact, life off the grid just might be a more pure and engaging experience.

Josh breaking out his dance moves — including a funky adaptation of the running man — and an ant crawling across this computer’s keyboard might be signs that it’s time to sign off.

Kisu mwane, God bless and Go Zags,

Matt Johnson, Class of 2016

1 Peter 5:2-3

Last night the group had overnight home stays where we spent a night in groups of 2-4 with willing members of the Zambezi community. We (Hannah and Kylie) were lucky enough to be picked up by Daniel, an accountant of Zambezi, his wife Namakow, his three daughters ages 2 months to 6 years, and his two teenage cousins. Our fellow Zags, Matt and Chris, also joined us to stay with this very generous family. As the four of us followed Daniel home, we noticed that there was a gathering at one of the neighbor’s houses. Without a word, Daniel led us into the party and sat us down front and center. As it turns out we ended up in the middle of a Zambezi bridal party from a wedding that had happened earlier that morning. Since the bride and groom were from different tribes, this gathering was a celebration as well as a meeting to reconcile any divisions between the newly formed family. We were warmly welcomed with dancing, singing, as well as a beef snack consisting mostly of burnt cartilage and bone. Hannah, being the trooper of the group, started gnawing on her tough snack while eyeing Kylie with high concern. Kylie casually leaned over and told Hannah, “the Zambian men are staring and pointing, choke that meat stick down!” The Zambians noticed Hannah’s struggles and quickly brought her a new piece of meat, leaving her with two tasty treats. After we finished dancing, we followed Daniel out of the party and to his home. Little did the group know, Hannah found herself in quite a predicament with the hardened meat still in her hand on our way out of the gathering.  Not wanting to be rude, Hannah got the great idea to put the half eaten meat stick into her backpack…. Needless to say, there will be more to come on this brilliant decision later.

At Daniel’s house we all sat in his living room watching Zambian TV and news, feeling awkward but warmly welcomed. Daniel’s cousin Owen tried to teach us local Lunda and Luvale greetings, but our American brains struggled to remember them, along with our hosts’ names (Mapollo, Salome, Namakou, Enni). We found tricks to remember their names more easily, including reminders to trigger them such as Apollo 13, Salami meat, mama cow, and “any”body… As embarrassing as these tricks were, we found they were our last hope in light of our extreme exhaustion and continually expanding vocabularies.

Due to Daniel’s shyness, we were relieved when dinner was announced. The women, who had slaved over the meal, left the house to give Daniel and us space to eat at their table, again reflecting the generosity of the Zambian people. Hannah, once again the trooper of the group, lifted up the covering off the first dish, to find fish heads staring back at her. Not skipping a beat, Hannah looked up from the bowl of large decapitated fish and said, expressionless, “fish anyone?” After pouring warm water over our hands into a basin he held for us like royalty, Daniel taught us to eat Nshima (a maize staple in Zambia), Chinese cabbage, and the fish heads with our hands. Kylie cautiously asked Daniel with as much politeness as she could muster how to properly eat the fish like a true Zambian would. Daniel blankly replied, “We eat all of it”. So the group toughened up and ate scales, occasional ribs, and whatever else was thrown our way. Our American ignorance once again came into play as Daniel passed us peach juice for dessert to serve ourselves. He told us to dilute the juice with water: understatement of the year. Our 1:1 dilutions left us drinking flavored fruit syrup that burned of sweetness on the way down. After we choked down the first gulp, Daniel’s 6-year-old daughter Mapollo said quietly, while shaking her head, “you took too much juice”. Yes Mapollo. Yes we did. Mapollo-1: Ignorant us-0.

After dinner we joined Daniel and his cousin Owen in the living room for a group bible study. We read passages and shared what was in our hearts about God. It was our favorite part of our time in Zambezi yet. For the first time, we truly felt a deep meaningful connection with these strong, loving, resilient people. We realized how universal God’s love is and how not even 10,000 miles can change that. What a beautiful experience. With full hearts, stomachs, and bladders, we headed to bed.

The family of seven graciously offered up two of their three bedrooms for us. We reflected on how rare this kind of unrestricted generosity and selflessness really is. This description for the overnight stay would be incomplete without mentioning the return of the meat stick. As Hannah pulled out a blanket from her backpack, bugs scattered across the mattress. Kylie horrifically jumped back and exclaimed, “HANNAH, WHERE ARE THOSE COMING FROM?!!!” Without saying a word, Hannah reached into her bag and pulled out the meat stick, saying, “I sort of forgot that I put this meat thingy in my bag after the party”. Kylie was less than pleased as she restrained herself from screaming, “HANNAH WHAT IS THAT THING AND WHY IS THAT CARCASS IN YOUR BACKPACK?!”. Exchanging confused and exhausted looks, they both keeled over in laughter, nearly emptying their full bladders after the juice event. For at least an hour, Hannah and Kylie brainstormed how to get rid of the meat stick discretely. Considering that the family was eating dinner in the dining room outside of the bedroom, the options were slim and the ideas became quite creative.

After much deliberation, we came up with ideas ranging from disguising the meat as a little poop, hiding it in our chitenges as we casually walk towards the front door, throwing it out the barred windows, and even disguising it in a granola bar wrapper to get past the family, we were stumped. Trash bins were hard to come by and the family continually insisted on waiting on us hand and foot. They would surely ask what we needed the second we exited the room. The winning idea was simple yet flawless: put it back in the backpack, draw the drawstring tight, and place it in the far corner of the room (by far, we mean 3 feet away at most).

As we got ready to turn out the lights, Hannah realized the juice was not going to wait until morning; she would have to use the bathroom. As she approached the bathroom, she heard a stifled, defeated voice say “whhhaaaaatttt?????” and tinkering noises coming from the other side of the door. Recognizing Matt’s voice, Hannah opened the door, revealing a much-relieved Matt who had spent the previous several minutes trying to get out of the bathroom door which lacked a functioning handle form within. Ignorance seemed to be the theme of the night, because Hannah happily hopped into the bathroom behind Matt, closing the door behind her. Rookie mistake. Luckily the family came to her rescue, once again reinforcing that our American brains couldn’t quite wrap themselves around Zambia.

When Hannah returned form the bathroom, she found Kylie huddled in the fetal position in the corner of the bed, with a look of sheer horror on her face. Come to find out, the closing of the bathroom door behind her prompted two rabbit sized rats to scurry form their hiding place in the ceiling above the bedroom and crawl down the wall within a foot of Kylie’s stone frozen body. The bugs from earlier now seemed like a pleasant alternative to our new furry friends. Yes, friends. They would soon come out to play fro the remainder of the longest and funniest night of our lives.

The damn meat stick once again became an imminent concern, now that it was attracting rather large rodents. After giggling and brainstorming for another hour, the decision was of course a simple one. Use the malaria mosquito net to literally wrap our bodies like two sausages in a confined breakfast burrito. Hannah and Kylie got close on a whole new level. Thankful to have Matt’s headlamp, we were finally ready to turn out the lights. We snuggled into bed, but the comfort quickly disappeared, as we heard squeaking and scurrying form the above and below. Apparently Kylie was more traumatized than Hannah, because Hannah was snoring within 10 minutes. Hannah periodically awoke to check on Kylie who, yes, was STILL AWAKE.

At around midnight, we began to hear munching from below. The sounds of small teeth of slick REI fabric suggested that the rats had found the treat. The catch phrase of the night quickly became “it’s fine…. it’s fine” as we tried to reassure ourselves. Scared to even look at the damage that was being done, we waited until the despised roosters started to crow and the light began to seep in through the window. While straddling the couch and bed, Kylie finally gained the courage to check the backpack lying below. She threw sandals at it and used the strap to strategically check for any signs of rats. Needless to say, we owe REI one hell of a customer review; the backpack showed no signs of damage. Despite hearing claws sliding on slickery fabric, the infamous meat stick lay untouched inside.

We spent the remaining time until morning in our twin bed exploring the few contents of our backpacks to prepare ourselves for church with Daniel and his family: hand sanitizer, a hair tie (which snapped in half soon after), two pieces of gum, which made up for our terrible breath in lieu of a toothbrush, and travel Kleenex to blot up the grease coating our hair and bodies. Luckily, we recovered from a night of ignorance by finally coming up with a logical plan- we put the now terribly smelly stick back into the backpack and headed off to church.

Much Love and God Bless!

Kylie Edinger, class of 2014 & Hannah Van Dinter, class of 2016

xoxoxoxoxo

This is day three here in Zambezi, and I already feel like I have lived here for some time. Well, in some respects…. The roosters crowing outside at 4:30AM, showers resembling the polar bear swim, and all the foreign bugs and geckos still get under my skin. However, the days feel long due to no technology, and not having much concept of time. When I lie down the mosquito net draping over me, it’s hard to believe everything I did because in Africa, it’s just living. Time can feel so long, and yet I’m completely content in the present moment.

It has already been a whirlwind of emotions after a mere three days. The first night here, my journal read, “I’m not doing okay… I can’t do this, I want to go home.”

I had walked into my room for bed and found myself overwhelmed by bugs—I’m talking beetle-style, the revolting kind that you don’t want to get friendly with—crawling all over the room. I stood in the middle of this chaos tearing up, hugging myself in fetal standing position.

That night was challenging, and I am still trying to understand why it stressed me out. All I could think about was, “how the hell am I going to make it two weeks like this?” One of the strangest things is that I am inside a building, and yet there are creepy crawlies and no matter how many we kill they double in amount. This challenged me in a way that I was not expecting, but I wouldn’t take back this challenge because I know it’s going to change me in some way or another.

Aside from this traumatizing moment (okay, not totally traumatizing), Zambezi has been pretty amazing. Upon arrival, I have never felt so warm inside, or more welcomed. Before I even made it out of the bush plane, children ran up to me pulling me out of the plane. Instantly, I had 10 little hands grabbing my two little arms. Tears of contentment and joy began to well up at this overwhelming experience. I’ve never felt so full or right before.  In that moment, it was pure beauty. The love and excitement that was so contagious struck me like the ice cold shower I would take the next morning. I felt like I was coming home from a long vacation to the most loving and affectionate family of little kids. I wonder how I have lived my whole life without this outpouring of love from people I don’t even know. People are people here, not functionaries in others’ lives.

Every time I step outside there are little hands that grab mine. It feels as though I am famous when people stop and stare as I walk down the streets. I know that is not the case, but it’s the strangest sensation. It’s getting hard to give out all this love though. There are moments when I decide to stay inside the convent, just so that I can avoid the children. I love it, but sometimes I don’t want a child to hang onto me because that’s not real life. There will always be a kid who wants to play with me. It doesn’t mean that that’s what Zambezi is all about and what this experience has in store for me. I am striving to experience what REAL life is like here in Zambezi.

The older gentlemen all say “Welcome” as we “Chindeles” walk by. They say, “We want you to be at home here.” One woman said, “Hello sister, how are you doing today?” These people care about other people, and I feel so welcomed here by the community of people I’m afraid I won’t be able to know fully. Last night, cars would drive by, roll down their windows, and ask us how we were doing. Honestly, why is America not like this? Why do we put our heads down? Why are we not friendly and open to the concept of community? It’s so simple and makes me feel a part of something bigger and greater than myself. It makes me feel important and like life is about the relationships not about our next appointment. This community has already stolen my heart and filled it full of life and love.

Yesterday was the big One Nine, having a birthday in Africa was probably the greatest birthday to this day. That’s saying a lot because I have been on this planet now for 6,935 days. It was like I did nothing and yet everything today. I woke up and made breakfast, worked on my project, and ran down to the market to pick up supplies and recruit community members. Today was my first REAL taste of what Zambezi is—full of life. I wandered through the small tattered little alleyways looking for chitenge (African fabric) in the many small shops throughout the market. To top the night off I saw the horizon on fire, as the orange sun set right over the Zambezi river. Walking Mama Kawatu home, we saw the moon, which resembled what we know to be the harvest moon back home, and a night sky full of beautiful stars. I felt like I was in a movie it was so unreal.

This was the best way to spend my birthday because it was not about me, but rather about living life. Instead of having hopes of it being an extra special day, I just lived in the present moment of life and let it take me where it wanted. My Zamily ended up making my birthday incredibly special and I cannot thank my loving family here enough. Each person went around saying a few words about me. All I wanted to do was cry. I am so lucky to be surrounded by people who see life, and love courageously. I cannot remember another time when I felt this special. My international birthday was incredible due to my Zamily and the community and just feeling that there was something greater going on, but special time was taken to celebrate my life. I am blessed. So blessed.

I guess that’s all she wrote. My eyes have been opened and my heart enlarged as I live day by day in this beautiful place under the sun.

God bless you all, and thank you for your support and love as we continue on this journey together. I love each and every post, most definitely the highlight of our mornings.

Paxton Richardson, Class of 2016

After a flight in the small planes from Lusaka, we landed on the rough airstrip in Zambezi. As we land and pull off the runway, we are instantly surrounded by a crowd of children all eagerly waiting. As the door opens, they grabbed our hands with a happy grin, and everywhere I look I see a sea of young children surrounding the plane. Some of the children even wrestle one another to grasp our hands. Around us, I see dirt and dust filling the air and covering every surface. The children’s happiness seems to contradict the dirty and worn conditions of everything else around. As we walk towards the convent hand in hand with children, I question what happiness means to me.

-Charlie Rogers, Class of 2015

This picture is from lunch today:

We are in Lusaka, settling into bed after another full day of travel.  We arrived this afternoon from Dubai and were greeted by Fr. Dominic and Kelly Huckaby, two good friends.

Early tomorrow morning we fly into Zambezi, where we will begin our reflective blog postings.  We will write more soon.