Frozen in indecision, I stood facing a wall of color and pattern. I’d walked to the market to buy a new chitenge (the traditional dress for the women here), and could not settle my mind on selecting just one to wear during my days here in Zambezi. Individually, the designs of fabric were not appealing to me. I realized that I like them folded on top of each other in a heaping mound of color and pattern and beautifully draped on the women selling cabbage, tomatoes, and chickens. I appreciated the clashing of patterns, the combination and complement of color. Alone, the chitenge is a piece of fabric but collectively they are the colors of Africa.
While here, I have learned that Zambia is a collection of colors, tastes, sights, and smells. Of laughter, crying, rooster, dog bark, church choirs, flowering trees, and sparkling river, sweet sweat, burning bush, red dirt, and white sand. Here one man’s trash is another’s treasure. Nothing is wasted. There is no way to see Zambia without smelling it at the same time. I find beauty and meaning here by appreciating the individual parts in order to better understand the whole picture. As students here in Zambezi we have the opportunity to become pieces of this country.
I feel furthest away from everything I have ever known here, while all the same feeling deep roots to the people, the landscape, the smell, and the colors. The closest comparison I can make to Zambia is to the ocean. Vast, unknown, terrifying, strange, but memorizing, alluring, comforting, familiar, but unpredictable. Living here is like sitting by a campfire. I can’t stop staring, knowing I should draw my eyes away from certain scenes but hoping that if I look long enough I might find meaning to the hardship and the suffering, or to understand the paradox between poverty and happiness. I just want to tell the people that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you have to do this work. I’m sorry that your world and your life is so hot and dark and unremembered. I’m sorry for intruding… But this place breaks your heart in all the right ways.
Natalie Gibbons, Class of 2011