Gonzaga-in-Zambezi

It’s not the first time in my life I have felt like a minority, but it’s perhaps the most exhilarating. I feel the eyes on me as I walk through the dirt roads of Zambezi, some of them simply look curious, and others look tinted with a touch of hostility. Most all of them brighten into a smile when I wave or utter salutations in broken Luvale. From the beginning I get the thrill of challenging a preconception, and morphing my identity from the unknown chindele (Westerner), to at least a passing friendly stranger. When I don’t fit the role of the stereotype, I slowly regain my personhood. When I am appreciated for my personhood rather than my money or my role as a teacher, I feel loved.

I suppose it makes some sense then that I feel content here. There are few times in my life I have felt more privileged. Not privileged in the sense of having lots of material goods, but privileged to have come here with such a dedicated community, to have been welcomed by such characters as Father Dominic (whose incredible outgoing friendly and eccentric nature cannot be adequately described in one blog post, let alone a side note), and to receive love from a child for the easy price of holding their hand. I feel privileged to be in such a loving state, and I reflect on how many people in every society lack that feeling.

I am content here perhaps, but that is not to be mistaken for comforted. Being a part of such community means feeling a great deal of pain. To appreciate someone is to recognize you cannot take their pain away all the time, sometimes you can only feel it with them. As a group we have sympathized with Father Dominique as he faces the challenge of leaving the city of Livingstone that he loves to the city of Lusaka that he is less comfortable in. We have had our hearts broken by discovering sometimes the children who smile and interact with us haven’t had a meal that day. We even felt a spooky sense of grief for a married couple of American missionary pilots that we never met who lost their lives flying into Zambezi a week before we did. To care about someone is to make yourself vulnerable to their problems as well as your own. It’s not easy. But it feels. Right.

Taking this to a philosophical note, there is far too much concern that goes into labeling a person as good or bad. We all have our faults and our graces, and to judge whether our graces are enough to exceed our faults is like judging a commodity. We are not commodities. So let us say this. We as a people are meant to send and receive love. The more we do, the more empowered our graces are in overcoming our faults. We are meant to be loving and Love is not meant to be limited. Yet love is hard, it requires we feel pain with another person, it requires that we are patient with their faults, and it requires that we are shattered when we lost them. And so we constrain our love to our family and closest friends. We might be hurt less when we constrain our love in this way, but something feels missing. In America I feel we turn to consumerism of goods to fill this unidentified void, and other societies have other coping vices I’m sure. What is this void? It is the strain of constraining a force that is meant to be unbound.

Taking this to a Theological note, we are all made in God’s image. I forgot who said this, but I remember hearing a quote once stating “You only love God as much as you love your worst enemy.” Constraining our love is straying from our Purpose. While it may be impossible to love everyone, we should challenge ourselves to embrace the possibility of welcoming the story of the next stranger who knocks on our door (or the stranger who pulls our bus windows open trying to sell us a big wooden hippo). Guarding our hearts too much hardens them, when they are meant to be flooded and broken so much that they become moist and fester (though a more appropriate term for non-Group 2 people might be beautifully broken). And when we let someone be so important to us we should keep hope when they are lost because in the words of Annie Lennox’s song “Into the West,” “Don’t say, we have come now to the end, white shores are calling, you and I will meet again.”

It’s a matter of faith. It’s something big. It’s something that makes a Writing Track major write in terrible disjointed fragments. It’s something I felt in Zambezi.

-Kyle Holbrook

Class of 2013

P.S. Mom and Dad, thank you so much for your support in helping me to embark on such amazing travels. I miss you very much.

P.P.S. To the rest of my friends and family, my thoughts are with you often.

It begins with a heightened sense of perception about the way our lives move forward.

It begins with the conscious acknowledgment of those chance events occuring at just the right moment –- happenings that bring forth just the right individuals — to suddenly send our lives in a new and important direction.

We comprehend it the moment we start to assume that every event contains a significance that pertains to our questions.

It is a new way of thinking, a challenging approach of intention to every decision I make and every relationship I experience. And it has been developing in my fellow team members and me every day since our arrival to Zambezi.

While many, including myself, struggled with the “tourist” aspects of our first week in Africa, it is a comfort to know that without a doubt we were meant to finally arrive and be in the Zambezi community.

We were meant to encounter the men working construction during our morning run through the undeveloped fields past the river. We were meant to walk away from our conversation with them pondering the idea that while there is so much “searching” for happiness in America (usually resulting in the purchasing of superfluous items or cravings of a career-related promotion) the people of Zambia find it, know it, and enjoy it simply where they are.

We were meant to be placed amidst a group of children, most under the age of ten, who would choose to spend hours learning English from someone with no professional experience, passing around a single pen in a makeshift classroom, than play with their friends in the sand. I was meant to leave our daily lessons wondering why, in my elementary years and even in this past one, I have guiltily caught myself believing that school was always just the next step, something that I had and was expected to do; the Zambians, from Mister Severe who works in the Ministry of Education, to young Humble who runs around with no shoes and tattered clothes, know that “education is life” and without it there is nothing.

We were meant to hold the countless number of Zambian hands that stretch toward ours, whether in traditional greetings or children’s accompaniment, that create a literal action of physical contact representing a spiritual one of conscious connection between people. We were also meant to reflect in the uncomfort of soon after having to sanitize our own hands in what feels like sterilizing the bond just made.

We were meant to recognize what it feels like to be greeted with a smile by every single passerby on the hour walks to and from Chilena Basic School, thus coming to realize how “plugged in and zoned out” we each are when in my own area of comfort walking the streets back home.

We were meant to feel the sting of assumptions. We needed to recognize that the only way to combat the label of the disconnected, transactional “Western donor” is to intentionally seek deep and real relationships built on reciprocated understanding and the ability to not only serve, but allow oneself to be served.

We were meant to completely lose sense of time, something I will have to say I have adapted to quite easily. We were supposed to be here to experience, perhaps for the first time, what it really means to slow down and begin living. For me, to look at my life surrounded by many type A obsessions with work, extra-curriculars, and other stress-related commitments and remembering with sadness how skillfully I use my practical routine to distract myself from what matters, that is, the very thing that Zambians and Gonzaga students can understand without speaking a word: love.

We were meant to witness the power of the human connection through this love, not simply because someone is a relative or a dear friend, but for the mere fact we are all human — and all share in this very human compassion and desire to feel and give love.

As I was reading the prologue of a philosophy book (guess what Dad, turns out I’m not the only one who reads them for fun; this group has some great talks about life) I came across a story from the author’s childhood. He spoke of his last moments with his dying father and the advice the latter gave: “We are not our positions. We are not our possessions. All we have is love. All we are is love. And in seeing this, I am happy.”

And in a place where the positions are not of luxury and the possessions are certainly not of lavishness, yet so full of love and consideration for others (especially new chindele visitors to their country) I could not possibly think of a statement containing more truth.

So it is through seeing this love-in-action that a new system of thinking and viewing daily interaction takes shape, a new standard of love to live by. In some ways I would call it a renewed sense of faith in humanity, yet more appropriately I believe I shall consider it a guiding light to appreciate the beauty in my own life upon my return. I will always have questions and uncertainties; but I realize that what matters is taking the time to look to new people and experiences in search of understanding.

Brady Essmann

Class of 2014

PS – Mom, Pops & Anna – I am so sorry I didn’t have a chance to shoot you an email. I wrote a draft but the power has been out so I will send it when I can. Please know I am healthy and happy and eating very well. 🙂 And I miss you. Zambezi has such a strong sense of family and I often find myself describing you all to the people I meet. I love you.

Sam – Same goes for you, I am sorry for the lack of any sort of communication. Know that I think of you always and miss you a ton.

PS – Katie, we are all so excited to see some more Blackburns headed our way 😉 Congratulations!!!!

PPS – Mrs. Brunett, Paige wanted to tell you “Happy birthday, I miss you!” and that she wishes she could have been there to celebrate with you.

Be bold, be Zambitious. These were the first words I saw as I stepped off the plane in Zambia and even though our group had a good laugh at the phrase, it was one that has stuck in my mind for the past week.  Ambitious by definition is to have a strong desire for a specific goal, and as I repeated the phrase within my mind I asked myself “What does Zambitious mean to me? What am I looking to get out of my Zambezi experience?” They have been tough questions to answer and I struggled greatly to come up with anything during my time in Lusaka and Livingstone.  I was struggling to find my deepest desires.

The night before we arrived in Zambezi our group had a small reflection on how we were feeling before our journey.  I expressed to my peers that I was feeling extremely nervous for teaching in Zambezi as we were pioneering a new program in health education.  I exclaimed that not knowing how our program was going to work frightened me and was producing an anxious feeling deep within.  These feelings clouded my mind and blocked me from seeing the true light of Zambia but our discussion that night helped brighten my path. While our projects are vastly important in empowering the Zambian people, they are just as important in acting as vehicles to help establish relationships with the people in the community. No matter how unprepared I felt for our health program, this new vision to develop eye-level accompaniment cleared my mind and pointed me in the direction of my true longings. I want to be the best teacher I can be, but with that I find myself wanting to be the best student as well, all while forming a connection that will never be forgotten. I truly found my aspirations that night.  One could even say I found my inner Zambitions.

Although I have only been in Zambezi for a mere two days, I have allowed my newly discovered desires to guide me through our African journey.  Every moment I spend with a Zambian I push myself to live in the moment and develop a real, deep relationship, one that will stay with me for the rest of my life.  I am excited to teach children as well as home-based caregivers about health and using it as a means to bond with the people. I realize that Zambia has so much to offer and I am eager to see what it has in store for me in the future.

Be bold, be Zambitious,

Alex Dickman, Class of 2014

P.S.

Ma, Pops and Sam, I love you guys so much and am thinking of you guys everyday! None of this would be possible without you guys and I want to thank you all for being so amazing and supportive.  I can’t wait to see you guys in month and hopefully I will be able to give you a call from Paris!

P.P.S.

Keep updating me with all of the NBA news! I see that it’s going to be OKC from the west and hopefully my boys down in South Beach can come back and force a game 7. Heat all the way! Ha thanks again, love you guys!

Words have failed me so many times in my attempts to write about Zambia. I can never seem to find the right one, or use the right one to depict Zambia in a satisfying way, a way that is, as Father Dom would put it, “just okay.” In frustration I have sat here, now safely at the convent in Zambezi, trying to describe it.  But how can I if I have found that adequate words do not exist?

If there was a word for the feeling of being in Lusaka, a word to describe what it was like to feel as though I had finally arrived while also still waiting, without knowing for what, I felt that.  If there was a word to describe what it was like to experience the Chapata compound there; a word to describe sitting in the home of a dying man, on his sofa, looking at the solitary pan he used to make his nshima; if there was a word to describe grief mixed with yearning, guilt with compassion and with grace, I experienced that.  If there was a word to describe what it was like to be at Victoria Falls; a word to describe what it felt like to become a child again, screaming and hugging people and posing for group photos with people I didn’t know; a word for what it was like to emerge from the water scoured clean as though every droplet had been a grain of silver sand, I encountered that. If there was a word to describe the act of listening with your heart, I did that. If there was as word to describe the vastness of soul I experienced as I peered out the window of our six-passenger plane and finally saw Zambezi’s glinting tin roofs and web-like sandy roads; if there was a word that meant “found-in-lostness”, I felt that.  And if there were words for everything else, for all the hilarious jokes and ridiculous statements, for the probing conversations and unanswered questions, for the sunsets and the hands already clinging to mine, the voices already repeating my name as though it was sweet, I supposed I’ve experienced that too.

Only one word now comes to mind in relation to these things. It is the word that Father Dominic used to describe the “Road of Zambia” upon which our group now finds itself. It is the word Sister Lucy used when she described how we should keep our hearts during each and every day. I won’t forget what she said, because I fully expect that my heart will be broken while I am here, and in those moments I will most certainly need to recall the words she spoke in her curious German-Zambian accent: “Let your hearts be wide.” In moments of heart-break, as well as in moments of “ever joy,” I believe to say that my only hope is that I can keep my eyes on that Zambian road, and my heart, just as wide.

YOLO,

Megan

Mom and Dad – I love you both and I miss you guys tons! I know I won’t be home for a while, but you guys will have Erin back in just about a week! Have tons of fun, and remember, don’t smother 😉

Erin – I saw you today. We took that picture. No big deal. Much love and thank you for your hilarious note (the LOTR references were not wasted on me).

Chingalala HIV/AIDS Support Group

Time is our scarcest resource here. I think most of us are feeling the press of too many people and places left to experience in Zambezi and too few hours and minutes left to have those experiences.

So I take comfort in Benjamin Disraeli’s words “But what minutes! Count them by sensation, and not by calendars and each moment is a day.”

I am also torn by choosing between having the sensations and taking a little time to savor and record them. Previous journeys to Nicaragua and Vietnam have taught me that, in fact, I do forget names and places I think I will remember forever, so I am frequently jotting down a name or note in a little notebook, and have developed an unnatural attachment to my pen, a functioning one being a scarce commodity here.

Here, in no particular order, are some of the ordinary/extraordinary sensations I don’t want to forget: going to new market and old market to buy eggs, pineapple juice, macha macha (and one more chitengue!), inspiring conversations with Mama Josephine, Mama Love, Bessie (the powerful DEBS) and her tolerant, wise, funny husband Victor, hearing the creative and somewhat obscene metaphors developed by Natalie and Jonathan for the Zambian version of medically accurate sex education, observing Erin’s amazing energy in the Chilenga classroom, and Joe, Lauren, and Constanza’s commitment to hearing the stories of both Juliuses, Mary, and Chansa in the leadership class, that annoying mosquito that bothers me at night, and the cry of the poor goat we picked up in Mama Kawatu’s village, Hikaru’s bravery as we cross the Zambezi in the tippy banana boat, Grace showing us how to eat Nshima, Aubrey and the chicken, walking through deep sand to another amazing sunset, the frustrations of getting the brazier started when there is no power, and the incomparable satisfaction of the first sip of coffee after the water finally boils (thanks Blake!),  the charm of the little girls dressed in white dancing up the aisle during mass, Brit and Lauren’s dancing with the Makeshi, Kellie’s story of her intimate homestay, John’s pragmatic idealism and card-playing expertise,  Katie teasing Uncle E and Christina coaching him about patience,  the unexpected shower I got when the Landrover blasted through a watery and deeper-than-expected ditch on the way to Chinyingi, football coach Owen, and his always energetic brothers, the overwhelming powerlessness I felt when the Chilgolala  HIV/AIDS support group shared their stories and hopes that I could help them and introduced me to a young man the same age as my son so weakened by the disease that he could not stand, and yet, he gave us a courageous smile…

I have felt despair and hope here, ultimately more inspired than discouraged by the Africa I now know just a little bit. I admire the visions and personal courage of the Zambians I have met. I ponder the structural and political forces that make prosperity so seemingly unattainable for most.

As you can tell, the Gonzaga students have enriched my time here as much as the Zambians have, reminding me of the incomparably deep passion and diverse talents of twenty-somethings who I am counting on in solidarity with their African counterparts to add some pieces to this incredible paradoxical puzzle of poverty and potential that is Zambezi, Africa as well as hometown, USA

A final memory: How are you? How are you, chindele?

This Chindele, letting go of a big professional and political chapter of my life at home, completely unaware of what the next chapter will bring, eating cassava and dancing in a class room celebration at Chilenga basic and scrambling up the bank of the Zambezi to the amusement of the locals, is fine, just fine!

Kisu Mwane

Senator Lisa Brown, Gonzaga faculty

Alexander and family with Lauren & Hikaru

Showing kindness is a choice. People would prefer to be treated this way but it does not always happen. Kindness is defined as the quality or state of being friendly, generous, and warm-hearted. After spending 19 days here in Zambezi, it has become difficult to reflect on my experience without mentioning the kindness I have observed here.

It started the moment we got off the bush planes. We were welcomed with beautiful singing and dancing. Children were asking if we needed help carrying our bags even before they knew our names. Over the course of our stay, we have been greeted countless times from those who acknowledge our presence. After becoming more comfortable with the neighborhood, I have been invited to see inside homes, carry their newborn child, or simply call me over to talk. Within minutes of human interaction, I am able to learn something new about this culture, their life, or have an opportunity to share what America is like. These moments are so powerful; it brings me closer to the Zambian culture and allows me to be in the moment with them.

I am often asked for material goods such as a pen, shoes, or my bracelet. It has been difficult to carry these conversations and it occurs not only with children but with adults as well. It is difficult to say no to give my pen when some have given me so much. Their presence has been the best present. My hope is that this feeling is mutual. Although I do not have enough things to give to every child that stands outside our fence, I hope my presence has been a present to them. Through conversations, strangers have become friends and I have grown to be more comfortable with talking to people I do not know. The unexpected conversations are the ones I find myself fully engaged in. Sometimes, the sun has set by the time I realize how long I have been talking. This weekend, we had the opportunity to be fully immersed into the Zambian culture. We home stayed with a member from the church. Lauren and I were hosted by a teacher from the local school, Alexander. He and his family welcomed us with open arms. The kindness received from Alexander and his family is something I will never forget. Last weekend, we spent a night in a town called Dipalata. It was a reality check when we saw the children in Dipalata more malnourished than the children we developed relationships with in Zambezi. Yet, the group was welcomed with prepared meals and it was evident that the people of Dipalata were giving us all they have. This generosity speaks for the kindness in their hearts and will not be forgotten.

My challenge is to always remember this appreciation I have received and return this act to someone else. I want to continue to live in this spirit of sharing kindness even after my departure. Although I may forget the exact conversations I have here, I will never forget how these interactions made me feel. The warm greetings of “mwane” on the street, the laughs I’ve shared with strangers and how at home I have grown to feel in Zambezi will stay with me for ever. I have come to realize that people make life possible. In uncomfortable situations, people have the ability to make others feel comfortable through smiles, handshakes, and even a simple “chindele,” screamed by many children here which means white person. The presence of people shapes our world. By being kind, friendly, generous, and warm-hearted, we are able to stand as one with another person even just for a moment. This is a lesson I want to take back with me to the US.

I challenge you to do the same; give a stranger your time or greet someone on the street. These interactions that we all are capable of will begin a wave of the kindness that the world needs.

Hikaru Yamaguchi, Class of 2014

PS. Mom, Dad, Haruka, and Nagisa- Genki?! I miss you all so much and cannot wait to see you! Mom- Tanjyoubi Omedetou! Hayaku nihonshoku tabetaina! Daisukidayo Pepper ni 4649 J

PPS. Judith- Happy almost birthday! I cannot wait to drop whales, go on night drives, and see you! Hans- Gahhh! I miss my 5 flights of stairs so that I can rest on the 4^th and come see you! I love you more than 1D! To the both of you- Thank you from the bottom of my heart for keeping up with the blog and leaving comments. BFFizzles! I truly enjoy hearing from you and bring tears to my eyes in the morning when we read the comments. I miss and love you both so much!

PPPS. To all who have been reading this blog- hugs and thank you. We truly enjoy hearing from you and look forward to the comments every morning over breakfast. It’s just as exciting as Tyra Mail so thank you!

Hello family and friends of Group Two,
Some of you may have been anxious to hear from us and we apologize for the delay. Our group has been fortunate to experience much in these past few days. We have been in Livingstone, and tomorrow depart for an overnight safari. On Wednesday, we will arrive to Zambezi, and you can anticipate more regular blog entries from our group then. All are safe and well. For now, you can enjoy the insights of Paige Brunett as she kicks off the blog for Group Two.

I mean, I guess I had an okay birthday. It’s not like I saw one of the Wonder s of the World with the most genuine group of people I’ve ever had the pleasure of spending a month with. All kidding aside, yesterday was incredible. Frankly, I’m still trying to process my feelings from it. I have never felt more loved than the many times the group (and whoever else happened to be around at the time) sang happy birthday to me. Even more unbelievable was that we met a young woman, Claudia, at Youth Alive Livingstone (a group that promotes faith-based behaviour changes as a solution to HIV/AIDS) whose birthday it was as well. Claudia was very small for her age (twenty-four) and I assume that she had some kind of heath issue. Honestly, that didn’t even matter after five minutes talking to her. Claudia was so full of life and incredibly endearing and I feel blessed to share a birthday with her.
After leaving Youth Alive, we set off for the Victoria Falls National Monument. By the first photo-stop (which overlooked the side of the falls) I was already overwhelmed by its beauty. However, we were assured that, “it only gets better,” which seems to be the theme of ,not only Victoria Falls but the entire day and trip in general. Walking a few steps further, we were able to experience “the smoke that thunders” up close for the first time. The water pounding off the rocks and then onto us was incredibly refreshing. I was drenched after a matter of seconds and after many a photo was taken, we walked even further into the park. They were right, it did get better. Being so close to something so powerful made me feel incredibly insignificant but so blessed to know that I was able to be in that place. I know that my attempts to articulate the Falls would be inadequate, it’s something to be experienced. After being soaked to the bone, with nearly full memory cards (both literally and figuratively) we headed back into town for dinner at Cafe Zambezi, where the birthday festivities kicked into high gear. After great food and many laughs, I was serenaded once more. A man at the next table over, apparently inspired by our singing and perhaps a few too many Mosi’s, decided to introduce me to a Zambian birthday tradition: he poured his ice cold beer all over my head. In the moment, I was shocked, appalled, but most of all, sticky and reeking of the lager. Upon reflection (and a hot shower) I realized that that experience, as well as the entire day, was once in a lifetime. It saddens me to know that I will most likely never have a birthday like this, but that sadness is cancelled out by the memory of how amazing my 20th birthday was.
While I thought that the group had bonded on the retreat earlier in the semester as well as during class all spring, sharing this experience together solidified us as a team, invigorating us to make the most of these next three weeks. Even today, the change in the group dynamic was tangible in the impromptu reflection we had at Father Dom’s home. I feel so blessed to be sharing this adventure with a group of people who truly accept each other for who we are and are invested in our trip with wide hearts, ready to be filled with the spirits of those we encounter.
-Paige Brunett, 2014

P.S. Mom, Dad, and Bill- I love you. Thank you for all that you do and allowing me to have such an incredible experience. Mommy, say hi to my boy for me.

Disease is such a real part of life here in Zambia. Unlike back in our home country, Zambian strangers will approach you and extend their hand for a traditional handshake and greeting: “How are you?” In response, Zambians will say, “I am fine,” where in the United States that would usually connote that something is actually very wrong. Here, it means that you are in good health.  Over the past few weeks many of our peers and students have fallen ill, including members of our Zags-in-Zambezi group. What is most shocking is that these Zambians are still on the street, acting out their daily routine, because otherwise they would not have the resources to provide for their families. One thing that we have all learned is that Zambian men and women are incredibly strong, whether they are carrying their children on their back or working hard days with little to no access to protein. And this strength, determination, and courage are what will allow this beautifully rich town to develop and grow.

Recently, one of the local women who helps clean our guest house came to work and said that she was not feeling fine—she was worried she had caught malaria. Thinking back to the United States, people with a just common cold would elect to stay home from work. This disease that all of us Zags fear so much seemed to barely phase her.

When the health group surveyed Zambezi 7^th and 8^th graders on their knowledge of malaria they learned the fact that most Zambians seem to catch malaria a number of times within their life. If it was not for the guaranteed access to healthcare, many of these individuals would die from the disease. A luxury that Americans are fighting for seems to be such a no brainer for Zambians, who are some of the only Africans with access to this right.

The craving for education we are experiencing in our computer and leadership class is admirable. Even with the flu or malaria, our students are sure to make it to each of our lessons because they realize once we are gone they will return to a world where access to education is both difficult and expensive. In our leadership seminar we attempted to identify some of the weaknesses and strengths of Zambezi. Access to education was a theme that came up in both of our sections. Even so, one of the strengths these groups identified and continue to act out is the genuine crave for knowledge. Again, the strength and determination of Zambians has become ever so visible to us Americans and represents one of the many things we can take home.

With only five more days in Zambezi, we are all worrying about how we are going to find closure. But I think that deep down we have all learned, experienced, and seen such amazing demonstration of virtue, communal value, and culture that we will all return to the United States as transformed and matured individuals. So, I conclude with a reminder to my colleagues and our supporters back home to live in the present, live with authenticity, and always reflect and grow from our experiences.

Joe Worthey, Class of 2013

P.S. To my friends and family who have been following this blog, I want to thank you for all the support you have provided me during weeks before this journey and as we come close to our return home. Mom and Dad, I love you.

Jonathan, Kellie, & Blake - enjoying the sunset with the kids

We are all born into a certain life.

Some of us, like myself, are born into families that can provide, into places that hold endless opportunities, and into the expectation that we will succeed, regardless of the dream we aim for.  Some of us, unlike myself, are born into families that struggle to afford food for their next meal, into places where disease consumes, and into communities where many feel that the only way to make something of themselves is by “getting out.”

During my time here in Zambezi, the confusion that comes with thinking of these paradox worlds has invaded my mind.  It is impossible not to wonder how on earth the place I come from and the place I am living in now lay under the same moon at night.  The emotions I have felt and the thoughts that now fill my head have turned my life upside down (also literally, being on the other side of the planet) and I think, maybe, I am starting to learn how to adjust my eyes to this part of my life I had no idea I was missing.

I met Friday, a fourteen year old kid, by the gate of the convent on our first full day in Zambezi.  He has a kind face, a big smile when you catch him laughing, and a very relaxed way about him.  His skinny arms dangle lazily over the fence, as they do every day, and he calls out my name in that perfectly smooth Zambian accent.  Something about him gets at me every time, so even when I feel tired and weary from the full day, I walk over to him to talk for awhile.  It amazes me now, as I have this time to reflect, how easy it is for us to just talk.  We have talked about nothing and about everything, and in such a short time.  I have learned about Friday’s troubled life at home, how both of his parents died when he was young, and how he lives with his grandmother and uncles now.  Some of the stories he has shared with me break my heart, but he tells them with such internal strength and in such a matter of fact way that the conversations we have had and the questions I never stop asking continue to flow with ease.  I think what has struck me most about Friday, and what will stay in my heart for the rest of my life, is the fact that just three weeks ago, our lives were about as far apart as they could possibly be.  And now, as easily as our first conversation began, we are intertwined.  Like many others in this village that I have crossed paths with in the past few weeks, I feel like some part of me, somewhere deep, has known Friday my entire life.  This feeling reminds me of the wise words of Piglet from Winnie the Pooh: “Don’t underestimate the value of doing nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.”  It is in these simple moments, the moments in which we connect with a stranger, that force us to realize that we were never really strangers at all.

Friday

If I have learned anything in these past few weeks, it is that regardless of the coordinates, the latitude and longitude in which we live, we all come from the same dust.  The wind carries us to the corners of the earth, leaving us at the places we call home, but our real home is in the company of each other.  In the words of Miguel Ruiz, “We are the same, you and I, we are images of light.”  I have found this quote to hold a striking truth for me.  We all love, hurt, fear, and hope.  We share in our pain and rejoice in our happiness.  We laugh, cry, think, and learn.  We love to be silly and goofy and serious and wise.  We all believe in something.  But perhaps most importantly, we all shoot for the moon but merely land amongst the stars.

Getting here, to this sacred, beautiful land, is what it takes to just begin to recognize the deepest, most personal parts of ourselves within the people we meet.  We must leap in order to see that the net will appear beneath us.

“You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage.  Just literally twenty seconds of embarrassing bravery.  And I promise you, something great will come of it” (We Bought A Zoo).

Kisu Mwane,

Aubrey Weber, Class of 2013

NOTE: To all of the parents of this brilliant group of thirteen, my life has been enriched by the company of each one of your kids.  Thank you.

The second group of Gonzaga students and faculty have arrived safely in Lusaka this morning.  They were received by Fr. Dominic, who will tour them around the capital city today, before traveling to Livingstone tomorrow morning for Victoria Falls and a safari at Chobe National Park, Botswana.  We are so glad to have them in Zambia safe and sound!

Please continue down the blog page and read a reflection from Constanza.  We will attempt to hear from both groups over the next few days.

Dr. Josh Armstrong