Gonzaga-in-Zambezi

It’s been a little crazy lately. First world crazy. The kind of crazy that involves preparing for final exams, grading papers, packing for a journey, finishing a semester strong, spending time with friends and family.   In about ten days, 16 undergraduate students from Gonzaga University will embark on another transformative experience in Zambezi, Zambia.

We hope that you will follow along on this journey, that you will laugh and cry with us as we work to accompany others, develop new intercultural competences, and reflect on our leadership and impact in the world.  Students will be posting daily with reflections on this journey and we hope that you will walk a few steps with us along the paths of Zambezi.

Our Zambia Missioning Service is this Monday, May 6th at 4:30 pm in the University Chapel.  We hope that any Zambezi alums would join us as we bless the upcoming journey.

Dr. Josh Armstrong

Dear parents, family and friends,

The students and faculty of our Gonzaga team have safely arrived in Lusaka after a morning flight from Zambezi with our partners Flying Missions Zambia. They will do some final souvenir shopping and celebrating in this capital city before departing Thursday morning for London and the journey back home.

I’m at a loss for words. As one who enjoys hearing myself speak (an occupational hazard), this is rare and frightening. For the past two months, I have had the incredible pleasure of studying, traveling and exploring Zambezi with a truly remarkable collection of Gonzaga students. We have laughed, we have cried, we have cried while laughing. We have been challenged in expected and unexpected ways. We have been supported by a community that can’t help but love us unconditionally. You have shared in these stories, so beautifully written by our students, on this blog. I know that you have been challenged and touched and I’m so thankful you were along for the ride.

I also hope to convey my thanks for allowing and supporting your students in this opportunity. “What? You want to go to Zambia?” Thank you for your trust. I recognize that it is not easy having loved ones so far away especially without the personal communication that we have come to expect.

I can honestly say that I have been changed by your students. They are remarkable individuals who have embraced living outside of their comfort zones and have tackled big questions without easy answers. Our evening reflections have been an amazing space for learning and processing our daily adventures. These students have been journaling about this experience like struggling dedicated novelists. They have also introduced me to relationships and realities in Zambezi, a place that I affectionately call my second home.

The Jesuits are fond of saying that a Jesuit education “ruins you for life.” I hope that this experience has ruined your students in all of the right ways. We have learned so much and will continue to learn from this experience. We have been thinking about Mother Teresa’s words that “There are no great things, just small things, done with great love.” I have been encouraging students to find these small things that will connect them to these relationships and lessons from Zambezi and integrate them into their lives. You can help by finding the time to truly hear their stories, see their photos, and ask them good questions.

I do hope that when you are next on Gonzaga’s campus that you will come by my office. I have a story about your son or daughter that I would love to share, and in many ways, we already know each other.

Kisu, mwane.

“Dr. Joshua” Armstrong

As I write this on our group’s last full day in Zambezi, thoughts surge through my mind like bees being smoked out of a Zambia Gold beehive. There is so much going on, the education and computer groups graduate their students, we start to say our goodbyes to the many children and other wonderful Zambians we have gotten to know, we make the final trip down the dusty dirt road to the market, and we clean and pack up in the convent where we have made our home for the last three weeks. I could write pages upon pages upon every sentiment being stirred up from this adventure’s ending, but, alas, I don’t have that kind of time. Perhaps the most pressing issue then is: how do we return back home and keep the experience of Zambia close to our hearts?

There is a part of going home that we all look forward to. We have all missed our friends and families. We all have some food, drink, place, or comfort that we have been craving here in Africa as well. Still, going home is a daunting prospect for all of us as we have made Zambia our home for a month of our lives. We struggle to answer what part of this life in Zambia we can take back to our very different life in America. There are many differences in these lives that we fear.

The first-world comforts that we once took for granted now seem somewhat intimidating in their excess. The last month we have made our peace with cold showers, frequent (and always inopportune) power outages, meals that could take four hours for Mama Kwatu and her kitchen assistant to prepare, sleeping under mosquito nets, pumping our own drinking water, and taking the time to walk miles down dirt roads to get to where we needed to go. All the while we recognized that even then we still had privileges that most Zambians did not have: we could bathe regularly, we actually had electricity, our meals were steady and varied, we had bug spray and nets to protect us from pests, we didn’t have to walk to the well and carry a bucket on our heads when we needed water, and we had shoes and sandals instead of just bare feet. We came to appreciate simpler living and the people who found happiness with so much less material privilege than us. We are nervous about coming face to face with all the more privilege we have at home as we were already faced with the reminder of our privilege here.

The focus of our trip was accompaniment. This means that we did not come expecting to be savior figures. Before our trip we read about the many ways that foreign aid went wrong and most stories revolved around giving the materials to solve a problem for a day, but the groups did not stay to work with the people to confront the deeper issues. We recognized that the most powerful thing we could do was to meet the people of Zambezi at eye level; to work with them to together dig deeper into the problems they faced and also discover more about the ones we faced. This philosophy helped us come to genuine understandings of the deep joys and ills that both the people of Zambezi and us experience, but it required that we did not give “hand-outs.” When people came by begging for money for food or school, we were strongly encouraged not to give it to them as we would be perpetuating the unhealthy idea of the Westerner as the savior (when of course true progress can only come when those within the society organize towards the change). This was immensely difficult for most of us, as it meant not giving up a few dollars that to them could be a year of school. We found ourselves feeling indebted because of our privilege, but without a direct way to pay it off.

A good metaphor for our situation is the conclusion of the movie, “Saving Private Ryan.” In this World War II epic, a small squad is sent to retrieve Private Ryan as his three other brothers were killed and the US army did not want his mother to lose all of her sons. In the process almost all of the squad is killed and the captain of the squad, Captain Miller tells Private Ryan “Earn this… Earn it.” as his last words. The movie ends with Private Ryan as an old family man asking assurance from his wife that he was a “good man” and thus worthy of the sacrifices that privileged him with a life to live. He had nothing he could physically do for Captain Miller and the others who died; “earning it” meant that he embraced his privilege and made his life a life worth saving by raising a family with love and intentionality. Similarly we have learned of the limited good that can be achieved by sacrificing our own physical privilege. That approach has failed to create lasting change for many decades. We might feel ashamed of our own blessings but for us to simply forfeit them is not what the world needs.

I think in life we have two responsibilities: to carry our own personal crosses to the best of our abilities and to indulge in and appreciate our blessings. I think in America there is a great focus on the first responsibility but the second one rarely crosses our minds. We are raised to endure the daily grind, to be self-supporting, and to overcome the complications that come our way. Yet as the wealthiest nation in the world, why is it that we do not hear more comments like “Wow, my coffee really hits the spot today,” or “I’m so happy to have a roof over my head and a warm bed to sleep in,” instead of grumbles about a messed up order and mortgage rates? Why is it that as the standard of living continues to rise in first world countries, suicide rates also rise? It is disappointing when we fail to carry our crosses, but it is a dark irony when we fail to even enjoy the blessings we are given. How do we expect to improve other people’s lives when we ourselves have forgotten how to live?

Meanwhile, blessings in Zambia might be as small as having enough extra money to buy a coke, but they carry far in the terms of happiness. They know that each privilege they have is precious, so taking advantage of it is simply instinctual. There is so much to learn about what we have by what they lack. Early pregnancies, and social and financial pressures cause many Zambians to marry at early ages. In America where men and women have more equal rights and enough money to support themselves while they are single, do we take the precious time we have to search for a person we truly can love and care for or do we try to satisfy ourselves by the thrill of shallow romance? In Zambia, food is limited not only in quantity but also in variety. In America, where we have a cornucopia of food and drink to select from, do we expand our horizons by sharing new dishes with friends and family, or do we try to drown our problems with comfort food and cheap booze? In Zambia, democracy is a new construct and is still very flawed. In America, where democracy has grown for over two hundred years, do we involve ourselves in researching the issues that will decide our nations future or are we content to elect a national leader based on a well-broadcasted catchphrase? In Zambia, AIDS and HIV affects one in every six people, preventable diseases spread, and medical technology and care is underfunded. In America, where we have long average lifespans and have medicines for problems as small as headaches, do we take advantage of our strength to embark on adventures and in sports, or do we abuse our health as long as “it won’t kill us yet?” In Zambia, technology and material comforts are expensive and hard to come by. In America, where every Christmas we are bombarded with advertisements about new cars and iPhones, do we use these amenities to form greater connections and experiences with others, or do we use them to create a life devoid of interpersonal contact? The list could go on for many more pages…

All in all, the point is this: yes, Zambia, Africa, and the World could all benefit by us giving up some of the wealth we have. More than our wealth though, what Zambia, Africa, and the World really needs is our full and genuine selves. We can be ashamed of what we have and what we do by the contrast of what others do not have or do. We can mourn that the circumstances are unfair. But this will not change anything. Many times in Zambia, I have let my shame and my sadness separate me from the community of Zambezi and even my group members. Yet while perhaps I don’t “deserve” the incredible privilege I have, I am the one who has them and I am responsible to use them well. When I had cast my destructive shame off my shoulders and was genuine with others, I felt love and healing spread not only to myself but also to others. Whether it was praying the rosary up a tree on a whim and finding other Zambians joining me, or improvising a fried rice recipe without soy sauce and giving something small to those who missed their Chinese fix, or entertaining the tailor and shopkeepers by buying colorful shitanges to craft into ridiculous clothes, I felt I did some of the most good was done when I was silly and shameless, I felt I did some of the most good when I was just, me. God works in mysterious ways…

It is a strange burden to carry as the “privileged minority.” Yes we should be generous with all the excess we have. But above all, sometimes the most good we can do is to simply bring ourselves before the world; to carry our crosses and to appreciate our blessings as much as we can. Didn’t God show us we were an important part of the plan when it brought us into being? I have learned much from Zambia and have felt extremely alive so many times. I think the only part of this experience I can carry with me forever is the memories and the urge to try to try to continue living as fully as I can.

To end this labored post, as always, a simple quote from the ending of the greatest trilogy of all time, The Lord of the Rings, can summarize my sentiment. Frodo says to Sam as he leaves him to finish the last few pages of his book,
“My Dear Sam (Blog), you cannot always be torn in two (split between the guilt of being blessed with so much and the intent to live well and help others do the same), you have to be one and whole for many years. You have so much to enjoy, to be, and to do.” Your part in this story will go on.”

With Sincerity and Love,
-Kyle Holbrook
-Class of 2013

P.S. To all the parents and friends, thank you so much for your continued support of this blog by taking time to read and comment. I think that the rest of Group 2 will agree with me in naming the Watsons our blog M.V.P.s. We all smiled knowingly when we saw your names, as we knew that a thoughtful and extended response was to follow.

P.P.S. To all of Group 2, no words can describe how blessed I feel to have gone through this experience with all of you. I keep getting choked up as I remember when we all first started to get to know each other on the group retreat just about over a year ago. I had this overwhelming feeling of excitement about getting to dive into the unknown with such a great group of young men and women. I still wish I had more time to get to know you all even more. I hope that we all have the opportunities to continue to grow closer next year, even for those who will be apart from Gonzaga. In some ways it feels like I just met you all, and this is crazy, but here’s my num- oh you know the rest…

As our hours in Zambezi are numbered and we embark on the ‘What now?” portion of our journey, I can’t help but be both haunted and empowered by a question posed during a night of stargazing from the water tower: “How do you end your time in Zambezi well?”

At the time I couldn’t comprehend a single scenario suitable for response. While I’d often thought of our final days and how I would feel, I’d reassure myself I still had time. I still had tomorrow. Stay here, stay present. But the time has come when I need to begin contemplating how I will process this experience. The time to evaluate where I have been in order to fully understand who I am and where I am going – in this instance, where I am returning. I don’t have any more tomorrows left. Recalling the question, I did have an initial reaction as to what I wanted at the end: contentment. But if my time in Zambezi has taught me one thing, it is to continuously “live the questions” and delve deeper into my thoughts and encounters. Did I truly want the simple satisfaction of mere contentment? What meaning is there in living if we do not actively seek to find it? Contentment became a passive word that I never wanted to settle into, a form I could no longer see myself working toward. When one is merely “content,” we fail to strive for the magis, a promise our group made at the onset of our journey together. When one is content, we stop asking “why” and start blindly accepting. When one chooses contentment, we are choosing to remain bound in Plato’s metaphoric cave, living life simply through the passing shadows of the truths we seek. When we are content, we allow life to happen while never stepping through the doorways that await us.

When content, we trick ourselves to believe that we can be certain, especially of self. Yet we should constantly be growing in self-awareness through our experiences, regardless of age, lest we should lack or forget sense of purpose and being. As humans, we are constantly “hungering for meaning in our lives” — and wasn’t it our dear pal Greenleaf who stated that “awareness is an awakener and a disturber” that can lead to such?

Among the endless uncertainties I am now facing, I find little consolation in the one thing I do know: describing this experience is going to be no easy task.

But, just as the act of living the experience is the easiest part of Being, the process of reflection and understanding is the most important. So for those of you at home who are anxious for a glimpse of our daily lives and the magic of not only our group but the Zambezi community, I will try. I will share stories and journal entries and video footage and camera cards. But right now it seems nearly impossible to translate into words the emotions I have felt and the scenes that have emblazoned my senses when words don’t seem nearly enough. But I will try.

First, I will try to explain the title of my blog. Perhaps it speaks to the obsession I hold for my Zambezi roomie Megan Dempsey, or perhaps to the fact that we are philosophical soulmates. But in actuality, the phrase is one I have not been able to shake since hearing it in Dipilata a week ago. The scene was one mentioned in entries prior: crowded around a campfire in a remote village as the beats of Zambian music penetrated our very souls. It was somewhere around the time while I was enjoying the violent pelvic thrusts of Mateo that Josh leaned over to our group and said “Don’t forget to look up.” He meant literally to take advantage of the night sky appears endless overhead, where galaxies take shape in the form of murky clouds. Figuratively though, I like to think of this phrase an awakener, an opportunity to seek awareness. Don’t forget to look up.

As I return home, I know I will eventually return to my daily routine, but I think I can end my time well in Zambezi if I remember to look up. To look up and see the beauty in the lessons we have learned from our time here and shall carry with us back to the United States, so much more than we can ever return to the people of Zambezi.
The awareness that there is so much to come of “being uncovered and exposed,” where it is “easy to be happy because it is easy to be free.” To look past the “heart wrenching condition in which many people are living,” as Jay and Stephanie expressed, and “recognize the good in a community living out its humanity in full.” To, through Analise’s reflection, to notice the moments of grace in your life, those precious encounters that though they may last only seconds, you gave or received love in a way powerful enough to feel blessed. To slow down, as Melissa noted, allowing ourselves to lose track of time and extrinsic worries as the only way to find inherent meaning in the bigger picture.

And for me, the greatest source of awareness, remembering to learn and recognize what one’s own heart needs – that we can’t always be strong for others, but rather admit our own humanity and be with others. And perhaps the hardest part of this is in the trust that must follow. Trusting that “all will be well” in the end. Believing what our hearts know rather than what our eyes see or our heads think.

The challenge lies then, as Mateo put it, in our “beautiful burden as a privileged minority,” a duty to act following this new awareness. The challenge for the soul who has loved, finding the balance in the uncontentment of a world we see with new eyes. We now stand from a new frame of reference. This question alone remains: What will we do now? In promising to continuously live THIS question, I see my time in Zambezi ending well.

Brady Essmann, fondly known as “Bread”
Class of 2014

As a side note (or novel, really) I just wanted to touch upon the institution of which this blog bears its very name: Gonzaga.

As a Gonzaga student coming from Missouri, people often question me as to how I ended up in the West. What quickly came to be my favorite question due to the conversation which ensued — “Why Gonzaga?” Many times I joke that it was both my parent’s greatest unbeknownst mistake and simultaneous blessing to let me visit Gonzaga my senior year of high school; because once I had seen the campus, looked in the faces of the students and felt a part of the community, there was no doubt in my mind it was where I was meant to me, where I would leave my mark. Where, one day, my heart would remain long after my feet had left. In many ways I feel this same connection with Zambezi.

While both circumstances physically took me from my parents, first halfway across the country and then the world (a debt to them which does in fact pain me most days), I know in my heart and that loved ones understand the everlasting consequence of my time at Gonzaga is the transformation into a more engaged and fully developed person – spiritually, intellectually, creatively, and now, globally.

For that, I wish to thank first my parents.

And all the parents and those back home who encouraged, in some cases allowed or even made possible for their daughters, sons, sisters, brothers, and friends to take part in this experience – for without them, my experience would not have been the same or nearly as impactful. This group has challenged me, asking the questions I didn’t know how to ask myself and pushing me to “stop thinking and just do” time and time again. They have been with me to work through the hard days and they have been support in moments of confusion and heartbreak, as there have been many of both. They have been alongside me as we search for greater understanding, entering in a probing conversation over a cup of tea or amidst giggles as we have perhaps become almost tooooo comfortable with one another. The fifteen of them (sixteen including a cameo appearance of John Meyers) have been with me to indulge in the happiness of the good, dance to the soundtrack of the awkward, laugh in the pure ecstasy of friendship. But above all of this, they have been inspiring people for others that I have been blessed to surround myself with. In simplest terms, this group of women and men make me better for having known them.

And, secondly, a thank you to GU.
It is rare to find an opportunity to satiate the innate calling for what is missing in our lives, a chance to “place us in the vicinity of the knowledge that leads to kinship.” The right time and place to “look up” from the distractions of our lives. Gonzaga provided the foundation, and Josh Armstrong provided the push. So for that opportunity, I say thank you. To Dr. Big D “Smooth Ride” Houghlum and Melissa for seeing US all at eye-level as adults and leading us through your genuinity. To Nolan Grady, our personal encyclopedia on Jesuit ideology, for always making the inappropriate joke, being willing to be a “diiiiiishhhhwaaaaashhaaaa” night after night, and for asking the hard questions our hearts most needed to answer. And to Josh, for putting the entirety of your energy into this program and exemplifying for so many of us the possibility of passion meeting professionalism for the greater good. And perhaps a thank you where it is most appropriate yet may be hardest to relay: to the people of Zambezi, for allowing us to share, explore, and reflect upon their own personal piece of Heaven, taking it into our hearts and making it our own.

For anyone contemplating to take this step in their life journey and apply for the Zambezi program or any cultural experience, I would say there is nothing more important. If you feel in any way stuck in a routine or pondering why there is a “void” or something missing as you look back on your life, consider stepping out of it. See through the eyes, walk the same steps, and feel the same pain as another. Uproot yourself from the potted-plant syndrome on the mundane and explore the unknown. Remember what it is to “love hard” and trust in the humanity of yourself, the love of others. Remember to look up.

The power has just come back on in the small, tidy eating area of the Simoonga’s household. Alexander, the father of the family and a man with an open smile, low voice, and small scar on his left cheek is sitting across the table from Analise and I as we finish our dinner of nshima, dried fish, pumpkin leaves and beans with sweet potatoes and Recoffy for dessert. The light above us illuminates the cement room: several windows covered with clean white curtains, a table in the corner with a television proudly displayed upon it (along with Season Two of The Vampire Diaries, the preferred television show of Alexander’s oldest son, Domitt), and several pictures of Jesus hung on the white and turquoise walls. He is speaking of Heaven, a subject that has always elicited two reactions from me: hope and fear. Hope is always the first I experience, a warm feeling accompanied by the light-suffused images of my brother, grandparents, and friends who I have been told I might see again, when my proverbial “time on Earth” is done. Fear always follows, though the reason why is far less distinct. Perhaps I am afraid I won’t deserve it in the end, or maybe I worry it doesn’t exist; but tonight the fear never comes, not as I listen to Alexander’s voice, which emerges through the nighttime sounds of dogs barking, cars passing on the road outside, and the sports commentary of the Spain-France soccer game which flashes in the corners of my vision.

“I believe in making Heaven where we are,” Alexander is saying, “I believe that where we are, we make Heaven for ourselves by improving the things around us, by showing care for the things we have.” He remarks on the universal habit of looking up when talking about Heaven, as though it is a place that is suspended high above us, hiding behind a cluster of clouds, dodging the airplanes. He holds his long, creased palm several inches above the flowered tablecloth, and says, “For an insect that is looking up, this is Heaven, this space right here under my hand. But we people live in this space every day. What the insect sees as Heaven is not Heaven, it is where we are, it is Earth. Heaven is not a place that is so far away. Heaven is just here.” Spain scores a goal, and two dogs are fighting over some scrap of food outside; Alexander keeps talking and mosquitoes are making my ankles a buffet, but my mind is elsewhere, and somewhere within it the angelic images of sun-gilded clouds and white-robed figures of my departed loved ones have disappeared. My conception of Heaven is being rewritten within my mind:

It is a shower of dust particles suspended in the pink light of a Zambian morning; it is the pond littered with lily-pads and emblazoned with the sight of a red sun rising. Heaven is the shutter of surprise I experience when a hand shows up in mine unexpectedly. Heaven is being moved to tears. It is loving through confusion and often in spite of it. Heaven is walking alongside. Heaven exists in back-cracks and head scratches, small favors, and remembrances. Heaven dwells in hearts that listen far better than ears could ever hope to hear. Heaven is Mutinta covering me with a blanket when she thinks I’m still asleep. Heaven is Domitt teaching me how to make nshima under a multiplicity of stars. Heaven is Daniel’s wide smile, teeth as white and smooth as dominoes, and just as big. Heaven is in our great thankfulness for no-bake cookies and pizza (with cheese!), and it is in our unforgettable indebtedness to each other. It is Mateo’s depth; Brady’s commitment; Paige’s perseverance; Anne’s easy company; Dave’s insightfulness; Analise’s contagious positivity; Alex’s curiosity; Melissa’s sense of perspective; Kyle’s quiet strength; Erin’s exuberance; Kate’s laughter; Jay’s deep faith; Stef’s attentiveness; Nolan’s empathy; Josh’s awareness.

Heaven is all of these things, and all the things that I have failed to recognize, even now. If I have learned one thing from my time in Zambia, which is now so swiftly coming to a close, it is this: To find Heaven, don’t look up, because Heaven is simply God’s presence, and it is as Alexander said: “just here.” It has been with us the whole time.

Megan Dempsey
Class of 2014

P.S.
Mom – I can’t wait to give you a big hug when I get back! I’m excited to share clothes again, to drive you around and run errands with you, to grab Starbucks on our way to JP II, to sit in the sun, and to laugh at funny things with you again.
Dad – I have a big hug saved up for you too! I hope you’ve been looking up some good music to show me when I get home. I expect at least one night when we stay up much too late listening to all the songs you’ve tracked down since I’ve been gone. Maybe on our way to Illinois we can have a late night jam session. I’ll drive!
Erin – I literally can’t wait to see your face. I’ve looked back on the picture of us together here, and I feel like I’m living out what you said in the letter you left me. I can’t wait to see this experience through your eyes. I’m thinking we chow down on some souped-up minute rice, no-bake cookies, and blackberries while watching a movie marathon when I get back. I love you, buddy.

Everyone else: Thank you so much for supporting us and loving us through this experience. You are God’s presence as well, and we have felt your beautiful accompaniment all the way across the world.

Paige Brunett. Catholic. White. Female. The other night during reflection, we were each asked to name what identifies us. Personally, being female has never been an identifier that I have been terribly aware of. Of course, I love shopping, reading sappy novels and fawning over Channing Tatum, but I have never put much stock into the implications of being a woman. In Zambia, however, it is nearly impossible not to be hyper-aware of womanhood. At the Livingstone Museum, our tour guide (somewhat begrudgingly) noted the difference between male and female lions: lionesses do all of the hunting while the male of the pride, for all intents and purposes, lays around all day and offers protection in the event of a threat. Animal analogies aside, it seems to be a trend that African, particularly Zambian, women work incredibly hard for their families. It is easy to spot a Zambian woman: she is usually dressed in a long, colorful chitengi skirt, simultaneously cooking and cleaning, all with an infant strapped to their backs in another chitengi, often with other children running around; she could be walking along the main road with, again, a child on her back, balancing something on her head; she might be cooking nshima: an arduous process of grinding corn meal into a paste, a staple of the Zambian diet. These are just snapshots of the incredible strength of Zambian women. Sadly, however, this strength is often not appreciated by men. In their lessons, the heath group is constantly reminded that women feel that they do not have a voice. Their husbands are often unfaithful and deny to be tested for HIV, putting many at risk. Arranged marriages here are not uncommon and can include a dowry. These trends begin at a young age. It is not uncommon to see a small girl carrying a baby on her back. Often times when I ask young girls what they do for fun they respond, “Washing plates,” or “Cleaning clothes.” Even tonight at our “Cultural Dance Night,” when the girls got on stage, they faced the wall the entire time as they moved their hips in ways that I didn’t even know were possible. Beliefs about gender roles are deeply imbedded in most African cultures. At the same time, however, we have encountered many extraordinary women during our time in Zambezi.

Two in particular, Momma Josephine and Momma Kuwatu, are possibly some of the strongest women I have ever known. Momma Josephine, our Luvale instructor, has been a leader in Zambezi since she was in her twenties. Forty years later Momma J has been a political presence and advocate for multiple causes, all while raising eight children as a single mother. Josephine’s husband left her when she refused to engage in a polygamous marriage, another common occurrence here in Zambia. Though she lost two of her children, Josephine continued to be an example in the community. We got the opportunity to visit her home: though a modest mud-brick home from the outside, we could sense the love and memories on the interior. She showed us her fishing net, as she lives right on the river, and the well from which she and the other women of the community gather water for cooking and cleaning. I was shown what a strong woman Momma J was when, while we were teaching a mini-leadership class in Dipolata, Momma called out three young women sitting in on the class. Though our Luvale knowledge is negligible to say the least, it was evident that she was telling the girls that they, too, could be leaders. Watching Momma empower those three girls in a way that only she could was incredible.

Here in Zambezi, our meals are prepared by Momma Kuwatu. I was lucky enough to be the first in group two to be Momma’s helper, which entails going to the market and helping to cook lunch and dinner. During that time, I got to know Momma’s story. Momma arrived in Zambezi in 1992 after her parents passed away and got married soon after. Not only does she spend most of her day with us, she also has to take care of her seven children who range from sixteen years to nine month old baby Joshua. Momma is quiet, hardworking, and has a huge heart. She emits grace and patience, and I truly believe she cares for each one of us like her own children. Momma reminds me of my own grandmother who had seven children as well. Both momma and grandma are incredibly patient and put others above themselves always. Being around someone so selfless and caring is incredibly comforting. Momma truly spoils us by serving comfort foods from home like pasta, fried chicken, and, my personal favorite, banana bread with peanut butter frosting. While I was Momma’s helper, I even taught her how to make one of my mother’s specialties: potato latkes. Momma Kuwatu gives us a little bit of home, even on the other side of the world. It’s hard for me to understand why women like Momma Josephine and Momma Kuwatu aren’t fully appreciated, let alone praised, in this culture.

While being a black woman in Zambia has it’s own subtleties, being a white woman here has a completely different dynamic. We girls were instructed previous to the trip to dress modestly: that is, having our shoulders and legs covered while in public, which is the norm for most women here. However, we could be covered head to toe and still attracted male attention, due simply to the color of our skin. Cat calls and marriage proposals are a daily occurrence for us girls. Though harmless, the extra attention is uncomfortable. Today, I traveled to the market twice. The first time, I was accompanied by two men as well as another woman, an uneventful trip. The second, I was with two females. On this trip, a man followed us and asked multiple times if we were married, to which we answered ‘yes,’ and if we were faithful to our husbands. This man followed us for about thirty minutes until he got the message that we weren’t interested. Another group of men yelled, “I want to make you mine, come over here, I want to take you with me” from their car. I couldn’t help but note to Anne, as we were walking away, that this would not have happened had we either been men, or been with men. When we attended a Mikishi ceremony (a cultural dance) many drunken men attempted to dance with us girls, standing a bit too close and touching our backs and hair, and were only deterred when one of the men in the group told them that we were “theirs.” While this happens in the US as well, and these comments are harmless, it is apparent to me that because we are white women, this behavior is seen as okay to many.

These observations definitely do not represent the totality of Zambia, simply the musings of a Sociology major. As most of this blog indicates, we have been welcomed warmly by many and I truly feel at home here. As well, women are celebrated here in many ways. The birth of a baby is a huge celebration, and motherhood in Zambia is quite unique. For one, the babies and the mother and constantly touching for the first few months of life. Being strapped to their mothers back creates an immediate bond. Women comprise the majority of the choruses that have made masses so incredible and never fail to provide a bountiful, delicious meal. A few nights ago, we were asking what we would bring back to America, but not in terms of physical baggage. I will bring back an appreciation for my womanhood, as well as the incredible women in my life, who have instilled a sense of pride and dignity in me, simply because I am who I am. Paige Brunett. Loved by God and others. Chindele. Strong as only a woman could be.

Peace & Kisu Mwane,
Paige Brunett, Class of 2014

P.S.- Mom, David, Hannah, Josh, and Bill, I love you all, see you in a few days!

P.P.S- Dad- see you in July!

P.P.P.S- to all of the family and friends who read and comment on this blog, we can’t express how much we appreciate your love and support!

In his poem “The Road Not Taken,” legendary poet Robert Frost wrote, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” My road to Zambia started two years ago with choosing to write my doctoral dissertation in Gonzaga University’s Doctoral Program in Leadership Studies on the essence and emergence of servant leadership associated with students’ lived experiences in the Gonzaga-in Zambezi Program, which I titled, “From Zambia With Love: Enacting Eye-Level Servant Leadership.” After researching, conducting interviews, analyzing the data, and writing 371 pages, I graduated with a Ph.D. in Leadership Studies from Gonzaga University about a month ago with the amazing support of my loving family, friends, and a flock of screaming rubber chickens. This road has led me all the way to Zambia, over 12,000 miles from my hometown of Soldotna, Alaska. While I have experienced this tremendous program in Zambia through the voices of my research participants and my own writing for quite some time, it has been wonderful to have my own experiences here with a truly remarkable group of Gonzaga University students.

What I have discovered on my journey is that “the road less traveled” in Zambia is filled with many paradoxes. It has been disorienting, confusing, heart-breaking, and simultaneously incredibly full of grace, freedom, joy, wholeness, and life. From being overwhelmed with joy as all of us chanted “Go Gonzaga, G-O-N-Z-A-G-A,” while being baptized in the mighty waters of Victoria Falls – one of the seven natural wonders of the world – to seeing a monkey sneakily steal my sugar packet from the Royal Livingstone Hotel during “High Tea,” to seeing a pride of lions lazily enjoying the morning sunlight in Chobe National Park in Botswana, to flying in the co-pilot seat of a 6-seat bush plane and being greeted by hundreds of excited Zambians singing and dancing, to having an impromptu BYOHL dance party (bring-your-own-head-lamp, because the power went out again!) with multitudes of Zambian children singing Shakira’s “Waka Waka” (“This Time for Africa”), to scoring the first goal in a pick-up soccer game with a bunch of amazing soccer players and screaming “Wele!” (GOAAAAL!) at the top of my lungs and giving high-fives to all of my little teammates. There is so much joy and so much abundant life here. We have been and are being continually transformed by the connection, love, and joy of the people here.

“The road less traveled” in Zambia has also been filled with pain and perseverance. People have told us, quite bluntly, that they are suffering. We have seen it with our own eyes. We have felt it. Many of the children don’t wear shoes and wear the same dirty clothes full of holes every day. We have been to the hole in the ground where the women obtain their water and carry it on their heads, often long distances, back to their mud huts with grass roofing. Many people don’t have enough to eat. There is the pain of incessant illness, unemployment, death, and disease, in a country where approximately 1 in 6 people have HIV, while others face malaria and tuberculosis. And there is the pain from the Western world turning its back on Africa. I recently had a powerful experience with Alex, as we tried to locate a very sick man named Maxwell who desperately needed to receive treatment at the hospital. We drove into the far reaches of Zambezi with Winifreda, the organizer of the Home Based Care program in Zambezi, but we could not find Maxwell. We finally found him at the Zambezi Hospital, crumpled on the ground wearing an old tweed coat, looking exhausted and scared after biking a very long distance over sandy roads to get there. Because Maxwell could not walk under his own strength, Alex and I physically supported him, taking slow steps to his bed situated in a room full of other patients. During the time that it took for the hospital staff to get his bed linens ready, I just rubbed Maxwell’s back as he hunched over the bed continuously coughing, barely able to stand. As Alex and I lifted Maxwell’s very frail body into the hospital bed, the weight of the situation overwhelmed me. Maxwell died a few days later of HIV and pneumonia. I saw some men carrying a simple but colorful wooden casket near the hospital the other day. I wonder if it was his. I knew we couldn’t heal him, but perhaps he in some way he has healed me. It is my hope that he felt love from us during his last few days. Sometimes all you can do is be fully present, show love, and honor another person’s full humanity in their darkest hours.

“The road less traveled” in Zambia has been a road filled with music that is situated at the intersection where heaven meets the Earth. The music during the 2 ½ hour Masses is phenomenal – I can’t get enough. I find often myself on the verge of tears because the voices praising God in unison, often in languages I don’t understand, stir something in my heart – connecting me to the transcendent in powerful and meaningful ways. Singing and dancing are an integral part of the Zambian culture, and I love it. Finally all of my hip thrusting and gyrations that are often my go-to dance moves in the United States are socially acceptable! I also often play guitar outside of the convent to many of the younger children and we sing songs like “Chew My Gum With God” “A la la la” (Alleluia), “Radical God,” “Blessed Be,” “I just Wanna Be a Sheep” and the “Hippo Song,” just to name a few. It seems that everywhere I go, the children ask me two questions (after of course yelling “Chindele!” at the top of their lungs and repeatedly saying “How are you?”): 1) “Where’s your chicken?” (I brought a screaming rubber chicken that both horrifies and delights the children); and 2) “Where’s your banjo?” There is nothing more fun than jumping around playing my “banjo” with all of the little children jumping around me singing and laughing. I’ve also been teaching guitar lessons to some of the children and one of the priests-in-training, Brother Gregory. It’s also been fun to create silly songs on the spot for the children…it’s amazing how many words rhyme with Zambezi – crazy, lazy, hazy, daisy, corn maize, and of course Patrick Swayze.

“The road less traveled” in Zambia has been incredibly humbling and has given me something new to add to my resume: “African Bush Driver.” On the other side of the world, I have found myself courageously driving on the other side of the road…places my Geo Prism can only dream about. I have been humbled every step of the way, stalling in front of large audiences of onlookers, constantly turning on the windshield wipers instead of my blinker, dodging between pigs and goats crossing the road while I lay on the horn with bicyclists and people walking on both sides of the road and down the middle of the road, hitting enormous potholes that only Spokane could be proud of, giving students in the back of the Land Cruiser more air than LeBron James (all while shouting “Minone!”)…not to mention that this is all being done from the left side of the road, often in fairly deep sand. The good news is that driving in sand feels very similar to driving in snow. This has earned me the nickname Dave “Smooth Ride” Houglum.

These mad skills came into play when I was recently appointed the “Bus Driva” for the health education team of Gonzaga students and a team of Home Based Care volunteers from the Catholic Church in Zambezi. We visited six rural villages containing people whom the Home Based Caregivers rarely see without transportation – We delivered food, encouragement, clothes, and companionship. Each of these people we visited had HIV and differing levels of health challenges. One particular married couple that we visited deeply impacted me. While sitting outside their simple mud hut on little wooden stools about a foot off of the ground, they shared with us (through an interpreter) about their life, their happy marriage, their children, and their health issues (both were HIV-positive). At one point, they both erupted into singing and dancing because they were so happy that we had visited them. Both of them told us how hungry they were and that they didn’t have enough money for food or for blankets to keep them warm (it’s surprisingly cold here at night). The husband and wife duo then did something remarkable – they gave us some of the only food they had: five pumpkins. It is very hard to express the unbelievable amount of joy they possessed in giving these gifts to us, and the amount of overwhelming humility we felt in receiving these incredible gifts of hospitality and love.

Additionally, I have been humbled by the children who wait for me outside of the convent who have made me their special friend while I am here. They slip their little hands into mine and with their bare feet walk with me throughout the sandy streets of Zambezi, helping me navigate where I want to go. While we are not able to communicate much through spoken language, the non-verbal communication through gestures and smiles and the physical manifestation of accompaniment through our interlocked hands is more than humbling.

Being rooted in Ignatian pedagogy and spirituality, we have been intentional about reflecting on our experiences, seeing God in all things, and learning what it truly means to be men and women for and with others – on this road filled with joy, pain, music, and humility. They are paradoxically all a part of the same road we have all been travelling. We are all being liberated in this authentic encounter with the “Beloved Other” as we have learned to serve and be served where we are, see others at eye-level, and love those we lead. A quote that encapsulates the essence of this experience comes from David Diggs’ work, “We See from Where We Stand”: “If you have come to help me you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.” We have found that our liberation is indeed bound up with the people here in Zambia. Martin Luther King, Jr. eloquently echoed this: “In a real sense, all life is interrelated. All men [and women] are caught up in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be, and you can never be what you ought to be until I am what I ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality.”

We have wrestled with some of the most challenging and perplexing questions facing humanity and come away from this experience not with easy answers, but perhaps more willing to embrace and continue to delve into the mysteries and paradoxes of the human condition. We find ourselves living the questions now in hopes that the answers will come in time. As the poet Rainer Maria Rilke stated, “Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves…Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

I am incredibly thankful for the opportunity to help lead this group with Josh, Melissa, and Nolan. I am incredibly grateful to the Comprehensive Leadership Program, the professors of the Doctoral Program in Leadership Studies at Gonzaga University, my research participants, the students here who have been some of the finest Gonzaga University students I have ever worked with, my family, and the people of Zambia for opening their homes, lives, and hearts, and for loving us into a new way of thinking, being, and acting. It was my hope to give you a glimpse from “the road less traveled” here in Zambia. May you too embark on “the road less traveled,” for it makes all the difference.

Kisu Mwane,
Dave Houglum, Ph.D. Class of 2012

I hear the yell down the hallway of our convent and home, “Dinner!” Eagerly, I make my way to our dining table and common room, where food, laughter, and deep reflection are shared simultaneously everyday. As I look at my seating options, I employ the dining strategy shared with me by a close friend and previous Zambezi resident. My eyes quickly hunt for the young Armstrongs, Owen and Grace. Finding a seat next to Owen, I swiftly walk over and take my seat, anticipating him “biting off more than he can chew.” As dinner winds down, once again, there are leftovers on Owen’s plate, and I scrape his plate onto mine, gorging on food in hopes of being full.

Zambezi is many things. Throughout my time here, I have recognized the privilege we have had in our stay here, not to mention back at home. Mama Kuwatu’s cooking is always delicious, and in some ways, my eating habits are healthier here than when I am cooking for myself.

Perhaps it’s because the days are so incredibly full, more full than anywhere else in my life, but though I have always been satisfied after meals, I have never felt full. Instead, I find myself seeking out Owen and Grace’s leftovers in hopes of being full.

It was in hopes of being full that I returned to Zambezi, after my initial time spent here two years ago. When Josh asked me if I was interested in returning, the question was not “should I do this?” but rather, “why not?” My time spent here in 2010 was absolutely beautiful. Much like my meals, I was hungry for more. Even upon landing on the runway, it was immediately apparent that Zambezi was still full. Full of joy, love, and life. As I disembarked from the plane, I was amazed at how many still remembered me, and I them.

It was then that my arms became full, with my heart soon to follow. I was blindsided, I’m pretty sure at full sprint, by Friday, a now 12 year old who has been in my heart since my last stay. In that moment, I felt full.

It is in choosing filling experiences such as Gonzaga-in-Zambezi that allow us to fully live. It is far too easy in life to choose something that will simply “hold us over” rather than filling us up. Indeed, for the chindeles spending time in Zambezi, a snack was not good enough. I hold deep admiration for the people who choose this filling experience. These are people who have chosen to go beyond their comfort zones, to do something different with their lives. Really, what they have chosen, is to do something that is filling, and occasionally too much to stomach. What they have chosen is something worth doing.

We do not have to be in Zambezi though to seek out opportunities that may fill our deep hunger. As a recent graduate, much of my time over the last year has been spent discussing vocation. Frederick Buechner said that vocation is “the place where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.” This time spent in Zambezi feels like tasting a bite of what vocation can be. Our days here are full. They fill our stomachs, our minds, our hearts, and our souls. Though I, like most of us here, do not yet know the intersection of my own greatest desire and world’s greatest need, I do know that it is because of experiences such as my time in Zambezi that remind me of a deep hunger to do something meaningful with my life. I do not want to take a path in life that will simply hold me over until another destination; I am seeking experiences that will fill me up. It is in seeking a life that is full that we are finally able to fully live.

In the last line of her poem, Mary Oliver asks the question, “what will you do with this one wild and precious life?” I do not yet know for certain what lies ahead of me, but I do know that I seek a vocation that fills my stomach, mind, heart, and soul. And I have Zambezi to thank for that.

Nolan Grady
Class of 2012, Zambezi Class of 2010 & 2012

P.S. To the members of group one: some serious credit is due your way for everything you have done for us. All of the projects have transitioned fantastically. And whether it’s a nice note left in one of the rooms in the convent, or a giant sign reminding us to “take yo drugs,” we have felt the love and work you did in your stay here, and are beyond grateful for your help in making our experience a great one. Tunasakwilila mwane.

Life is messy.

In Zambia I have experienced this first-hand both literally and figuratively. I am reminded of life’s messiness each night when I try in vain to “Wet Wipe” my feet clean before getting into bed. (It never works.) For the next several months, my heels will be permanently stained with the very same dirt of Zambezi with which the feet of the people here are stained. I can’t help but reflect on the implications this has for what it means to stand in solidarity with the people of Zambia. As the dirt will not soon be washed off my feet, nor will the impact of the people in this place ever leave my heart.

Life is messy.

Last week I had the ultimate organic experience of following my meal through the entire process of life to the table. I selected a chicken from a coop at the market, carried it home in my hands, held it down kicking and flapping while I cut off its head, soaked it in warm water and plucked it, cut it into pieces, and cooked it, finally getting to taste the fruit of my labor. I was next to kill a chicken after the one before mine got up off the chopping block and ran around spurting blood all over the convent courtyard, covering those in its path as it half-ran, half-flew around the yard for several minutes after the head was off. After this graphic messy scene, I couldn’t help but think of the greater meaning this admittedly disturbing experience held for me. In a way, it was putting a (literal) end to always “running around like a chicken with my head cut off,” a phrase I am all-too-familiar with now, thanks to this experience. The funny part is that while this experience was so shocking and repulsive to me, it is a very normal part of food preparation for Zambians, yet something that we as Americans take for granted.

In the same way that I will never look at a package of chicken on the shelf at Safeway the same (now with much greater appreciation and awareness), I will never be able to live the same way that I did before coming to Zambia. Like the sign on a stray boat grounded in Chinyngi with the words “SLOW DOWN,” here I have been able to recognize that I had been guilty of leading a life of “running around like a chicken with my head cut off.” I had been living with such futuristic thinking that I had forgotten how to live in the present. Being at Victoria Falls free to shriek with joy and delight as I played in the spray of the most amazing waterfall on earth reminded me of the beauty of a life lived in the present. In Africa there are only two concepts of time: past (Zamani) and present (Sasa). There is no real concept of “future.” Here, I have struggled to adjust to “Zambian time” where everything runs at a pace when things happen whenever people feel like they are ready for them to happen. I have caught myself many times glancing at my watch in vain, waiting for things to happen instead of letting them happen. How many moments of opportunity have I missed in life by allowing myself to get sucked into a concept that does not even exist here in Africa? As Megan warned our group, “searching for the point [can make one] miss the point of the whole thing.” This is a lesson I hold near and dear to my heart that I will carry home with me from this experience.

Life is messy, as the Health Education Team has discovered teaching about HIV/AIDS, hygiene, alcohol, pregnancy and the dangers of abortion, and Tuberculosis to various schools, social organizations, and the Home Based Care volunteers who provide care for patients free of charge. We have visited numerous rural hospitals and clinics in the area. We have gone on rounds with doctors and seen patients sick in their beds. We have gone to their homes and met with them face-to-face in their one-room huts. We have seen much, and sometimes understood little.

How do you look into the hopeful face of a Home Based Care worker who asks you on behalf of their patient if the anti-retroviral medications they have been taking has really cured their HIV and have to sadly say “no”?

How do you swallow the lump in your throat watching a doctor explain to a diabetic patient that his necrotic foot needs to be amputated tomorrow?

How do you take the news that the HIV-positive Zambian man your friends spent all morning searching for before carrying him on their shoulders into his hospital bed didn’t survive the weekend?

How do you justify warmly shaking the hands of so many eager people wanting to meet you and then immediately find yourself sanitizing your hands afterward?

How do you enjoy such a superfluous meal in the one of the poorest villages of Zambia while hungry children with pot-bellies the size of bowling balls wait for you outside? A place where, as Josh so eloquently put it, “we feel guilty for the hospitality [the people of Dipalada] show us, and yet they would not have it any other way.” How do you “allow yourself to be served where you serve,” in a place like that, as the article “Staying for Tea” by Aaron Ausland discusses?

How do you become a person not only FOR people but WITH people? Because as Fr. Greg Boyle reminds us in “The Voice of Those Who Sing,” “there’s no ‘us’ and ‘them’—just ‘us.’” How do we walk hand-in-hand at eye-level in mutual solidarity with others?

And how can I possibly return to a life of –excuse my frankness—such truly grotesque surplus in America where we have numerous kinds of dental floss to choose from when people here have never heard of floss, let alone used it? A place where you can actually buy “in bulk,” and “supersize” your “fourth” meal? The thought of what we are completely comfortable with and have even grown to expect in America now makes me cringe. Going back to all that “stuff” feels like a heavy load to bear.

There are no easy answers to life’s messy questions.

I can’t help but continue to reflect on the concept of having never been so happy with so little. I continue to be baffled by the amount of things I have taken for granted my whole life that would be considered luxuries here (electricity, CLEAN running water, a car, a computer, my bed, a roof that doesn’t leak, toilet paper, 3 meals a day, take your pick).

I’ve also never felt so welcome in a place so far from home. I’ve never felt so much unconditional love and acceptance from such total strangers. I’ve never felt such freedom to be me, or better yet, to just be.

In Zambia, I have been free to dance alone in front of a crowd of people with the revered Makishi dancer. Free to sing in a language not my own. Free to go without makeup for the first time since junior high. Free from the constraints of time. Free from worry about the future. Free to embrace the “blessed interruptions” that became small miracles. Free to hold hands. Free to just let go and let God. Living a life of simplicity has been so freeing in a way that I never would have thought possible. The answers to life’s messy questions can be found in our kinship with one another. Here, we are all brothers and sisters. It is the emphasis placed on relationships above all other things that make everything else seem almost trivial. It is the overwhelming love from the people here that gives me hope. I will never forget the way my eyes flooded with tears of awe and humility when our bush plane first landed in Zambezi and the overwhelming welcome we received from a community we became forever a part of the second our plane touched down.

Life is messy, yes, but there is so much freedom to be found in the midst of it. It is a Gift (as so many here in Zambezi are named). And I have truly found this freedom here in Zambia, and am learning to fully embrace the messiness of it all.

Kisu mwane,
Melissa Houglum
Class of 2011

P.S. To my fam:
Mitch: Happy 22nd birthday! I hope it was a lot of fun. Wish I could have been there! Glad to hear you are enrolled in classes. Study hard and don’t forget to have fun too! I hope the Cards are doing well. You’ll have to update me when I get back. Miss you lots. I hope you are figuring things out and happy with your decisions. Love you!

Matt: Hope your job is going well and you are getting to see some interesting places. I hope you are able to make KC your home and that you are making friends and settling in. For some reason killing the chicken reminded me of when we were little and used to go fishing and you always made me bait your hook. LoL. ☺ Miss those days and you more! Love you!

Rebekah: I hope your new job is going well also. I’m sure you have so much fun helping brides find their perfect dress. We will definitely have to catch up when I get back! Love you!

Mom: Miss you so much! Thank you so much for posting! We read the blog posts every morning at breakfast and I love hearing about what you all are up to. I miss our daily conversations on the way to work. I don’t even know where to begin catching up. Hopefully this blog post will help. I am learning so much from the amazing people here and it has given me such an appreciative outlook on life. I think of you often and wonder what you are doing. I’m looking forward to a visit from you sometime when I get back. I hope the wedding planning is going well. Hi to Randy also!! Love you both!

Dad: Thank you for your posts. It’s great to hear from you. I hope your Father’s Day was nice. Wish I could have been there to celebrate it with you. Love you!

Mom, Dad, Chris, Dan, Rose, and other Houglums: We hope the wedding was nice and that you all were able to spend some quality time together. Wish we could have been there! Dave and I send our love and hope that all of you are well. Feel free to update us on what you all have been up to! We’d love to hear from you. Life here has been indescribable in the best way possible. Love and miss you! -Dave and Melissa

Everyone: Hello from Zambia! Love and miss you all!!!!

Returning back to the chapel after a long walk to and from the Dipalata Mission Hospital, I geared up to teach my second computer class with Kyle and Nolan, to a group of forty eager individuals. For the members of the small community of Dipalata this class was the first time, and realistically maybe one of the only times they would get the opportunity to see and actually touch a computer. I cannot begin to express their excitement as they craved to know anything and everything about this revolutionary tool. These were the only two classes we would teach in Dipalata, and although it was amazing to be part of the experience and see the community members in awe of the piece of technology that I take for granted every day. By the end of the second session, I found myself somewhat discouraged. As everyone departed from the one room church I was teaching in, I sat on a long wooden bench where I began to reflect. My mind churning fast, I found myself asking questions such as “how am I supposed to make a difference somewhere like this in two, one hour sessions?” “Why can’t I give them all the information they so desperately want to know?” Sitting there in a daze, I was quickly awoken by a shout from someone outside saying, “We are going to go explore and watch the sunset if you want to come.” Reluctant to go, I decided to follow the mantra, “just say yes.” As I stepped outside, several children immediately latched on to my hands, yearning for the slightest bit of attention. As I walked and followed behind the group, my heart felt heavy. There was great passion and desire in the eyes and hearts of these simple villagers. This was not something new for me to see in the Zambian people, but in this small boma with no running water or electricity, a thirty-kilometer walk from Zambezi, the nearest larger village, Africa began to feel real to me. I felt hopeless. I paused on the path, and stared at the sunset wondering why it had to be like this. I soon was interrupted by the familiar sound of a guitar not too far off, accompanied by soulful voices. I walked over behind the chapel to find choir practicing for Sunday’s mass. I sat on a rock and just observed as the music poured into my heart. My somewhat melancholy mood quickly changed. Curiously, moving to a closer rock I realized that this familiar sound was actually my backpacker’s guitar that I had brought with me. The choir director had his eye closed and was finger picking a beautiful tune. I did not question how he got it, but sat there and listened with a grin from ear to ear. The other instruments were handmade but the sound was powerful when combined with the rich voices.

We were graced with their choir’s performance two more times before we left Dipalata. That night, after indulging in a feast, which was somewhat uncomfortable due to visible lack of food and resources in community, we gathered around the campfire. Once again, I found the choir director, Pepytex, with my guitar. He had somehow made his own pickup and attached it to a very old small boom box. As the night grew darker, the fire grew brighter, but not just the fire in the middle of our wooden benches, but also the fire in our hearts. The amplified guitar, which will be given to Pepytex next week, began every song with individual notes, followed by the rich decedent voices of the African choir. The first song that was played that night and the next morning in mass had the lyrics of “Welcome, Welcome, dear visitors, we are all happy today.” This was a reminder to me of the feeling when I had arrived in Zambezi, 12 days ago.

Two themes have been present throughout my time here in Africa, the overwhelming joy and love, as well as servitude. Through the music and dancing in Dipalata the paradox of Africa was revealed to me in a new and impactful way. During our time in Zambia, I have noticed something different about the people that I am still struggling to put into words. The closest I can get is to say they are free. The sobering experience in Dipalata exposed the way that most of Africa lives. Each of us were pushed outside our comfort zones as we slept on the hard ground, with no electricity or running water (no bathrooms). However, we were also privileged to share the life and joy of the people as over two hundred children and adults gathered around the fire, dancing and singing with more life than a newborn. They were proud of what they had, even though it was little, and they were elated that they got a chance to share it with us. Those in Dipalata, as well here in Zambezi have served us with wide hearts. Their happiness and joy was something that came from deep inside. Although this simple joy was especially present in Dipalata, I have also found it as I talk with Gladys, Naomi, and Lisford for an hour after Computer Class everyday, or when I help Benson with his homework as he teaches me Lunda and Luvale. On a previous blog post, someone had mentioned that in Zambia, they had never been so happy with so little. Especially after Dipalata I can agree with this statement. Although we are here to teach and to serve, we are truly being served and learning from those around us more than we could have ever imagined.

The people here crave to know. The people here love with wide hearts despite the narrow road they walk on. The people here are free.

Hands

Whether they be small or big,
Pitch Black or snow white,
These worn hands yearn to be held tight.

Some aged with wrinkles
Others leathered and rough,
The embrace of a single hand can be more than enough.

Every time we step outside
Little hands reach up in the air,
Searching for another hand to cling to with care.

Other times we shake the hands
Of a new friend saying Musana Mwane, hello
This simple sign of respect can cause a heart to overflow.

Every single crack and crevasse
Has its own story to tell
Each unique feature in God’s glory we revel.

But no matter what a hand may look like
The same things it can do,
These hands united together as one, no longer two

Because when we are holding hands
It is eye to eye we see,
And through this we realize we can Be Free.

Stefanie Watson
Class of 2012

P.S. Mama, Daddy, Jess, and Grandma! I miss you all so much. Mom you would love it here, everyone is so friendly. I have been reading Jesus Calling and thinking of you! I love each and every post! Dad-the music is unbelievable. I have been trying to record as much as I can for you. Also, as I mentioned the backpacker will have a new home next week as Pepytex will walk here to pick it up and it will be put to good use as it ministers to the community. Jess-I have so much to tell you and so many pictures to show you. Try looking up Dipalata on google maps…good luck finding it! Grandma-your verses you sent me have been encouraging and I can feel your prayers everyday! Give Dipstick and Piper a kiss for me 🙂

P.P.S. To the rest of my friends and family! I miss you all so much! Thank you for reading the blog and for the support. I have so many stories for you. To my girls-I can’t wait to be reunited, and don’t worry I will bring plenty of colorful chitengis!