Gonzaga-in-Zambezi

Why are you going to Africa?

This was a question I was frequently asked when telling friends and family about my plans to come to Zambezi with the Gonzaga group; and the truth is I still think about this question every day. Before coming, I generally answered this question by saying that I would be teaching computer classes. This statement is true, but is it really the reason I am here? I frequently find myself frustrated because I don’t fully understand Zambezi, and from not understanding Zambezi I feel like I cannot effectively function in the community. The people here are beautiful—determined, welcoming, and strong—but it is difficult for me to know whether the relationships I am building are based on genuine affection or not. Much of the time I feel like the rich “chindele” who has come to provide something. I know that is not my intention, but it is often how I think people view me, and us as a collective group. I have encountered this problem especially with the children. I know so many of them are just eager to be loved, but I can’t help the feeling of thinking these children may just be playing with my emotions. I begin to grow close to certain children only to find out that they really just want to use the bicycles we possess or have a chance to listen to music on our computers. Is it their fault that they have never ridden a bicycle or used a computer? Of course not, but it nonetheless makes me feel like an ignorant outsider.

I was recently told by one of our computer students that it is important to leave a legacy wherever you are. He was specifically referring to the computer program and how he feels it must become more sustainable. The computer group was very upset when we arrived in Zambezi to find no computer lab, but instead discovered dusty computers that had rarely been used since last summer’s group was in Zambezi. We immediately knew that this was a major problem; how can our program lead to sustainability for Zambezi when our students don’t even have access to computers when we are gone. It is imperative that a lab remains open when we leave Zambia; this has become our main goal since seeing the lab on the first day here. While we have identified one issue that needs our attention, I find myself struggling to identify problems that the people of Zambezi are concerned about. During the months leading up to our departure for Zambia we focused a great deal on the idea of accompaniment. Accompaniment is seen as operating at eye-level with others and truly striving to understand cultures other than our own. I am a firm believer that it is impossible to serve in a community like Zambezi without first becoming familiar with the region’s customs, values, and religions. Ultimately, I am left with the realization that we will never truly accompany the Zambian people. This may seem like a pessimistic view, but that is not how I intend it. We are simply not in Zambezi long enough to become part of the community. We live a sheltered existence where we are exposed to small realities of life in Africa, but are then able to return to our safe haven at the convent. However, this does not take away from our presence in Zambezi.

We are constantly reminded that our presence in Zambezi leaves a strong impact on the community. That is the thing that is so incredible about these people—just us being here is enough. Some may want things from us, but the thing that I am quickly realizing is that we all just want to be loved. One moment of my journey that I will never forget took place several days ago when returning to the convent after witnessing another beautiful Zambian sunset. I was walking alone when I bumped into a man heading the opposite direction of me. We shook hands and then he reversed his direction and began walking with me while at the same time wrapping his arm around my shoulder. Granted, this was a man I had never met in my life. He explained that he was from Lusaka and had come to work on a water purification problem Zambezi was facing. I thanked him for his warm welcome and expressed my appreciation for the welcome we had received all throughout Zambia from the moment we left the airport. He suddenly stopped, looked me in the eyes and said, “We are the same, you and me. Why would I not welcome you?” I will never forget this interaction.

I would like to leave you with a welcome speech that the health group received upon a visit to a home based care group  in Chingalala.  These words were written by Madame Ellah Machayi who failed to deliver the speech herself due to vision impairment resulting from the HIV medication she is currently taking. I hope you all are moved as we were.

Ufuku mwane,

John Farley, Class of 2014

P.S. Happy belated birthday Syd the Kid, I love you.

Chingalala Support Group Welcome Speech

Written by Madame Ellah Machayi for the Gonzaga Health Education group visit

May 23, 2012

The team leader Natalie, our visitors from the United States of America, the coordinator of NZP+, all widows, orphans, widowers and terminally ill –

May I say all protocol observed.

We are all very happy to have you in our midst. You’ve travelled thousands of kilometers across oceans and seas risking your lives to be with us.

You have demonstrated a great passion for the people of Zambia and Zambezi especially us that are vulnerable. Our vulnerability usually isolates us from the “have-it-all”.

Your presence only has given us great hope that you have unknowingly put a smile on our faces and given mercy and great joy to our hearts.

At this I would like to say “Welcome to Zambia and its friendly and generous people”

We understand the economic hardships that are going by through out the world, the economic recessions in America, UK, Germany, etc.

This however will not be a stumbling block for any form of assistance that you may need to render to us.

We don’t want to remain depressed in our various situations. We need to start to stand up and realize our own potentials. We only need that type of assistance which can sustain our lives not a loaf of bread and butter but something we can love on with hope for years and generations to come.

Madam Natalie in our midst are orphaned children, widows, widowers, those living with HIV aids. This is not the end of the world, we still, if given a chance, opportunity, or platform can become very independent, well meaning and dependable citizens contributing to out national development.

We are in our state but our potentials speak volumes. Any form of assistance that will be rendered to us, we shall call it a blessing indeed and may the good lord give you the warmest hears of all.

God bless you all.  Thank you.

A quick disclaimer, please do not read the previous blog written by Erin or it will make mine look like it was written by a third grader. Beginning to write this blog, it has occurred to me that we as a group have experienced so much. The Zambian people have touched our lives and our hearts in less than a week and we all look forward to learning from them in whatever unexpected way. These experiences have begun to meld together to form a picture of who the Zambian people are.  However, many of our experiences have been of welcoming and happiness, starting with the singing and dancing we watched on landing in Zambezi to the warm hospitality we found on Sunday in Church. As we continue to live and teach here, the different programs are beginning to realize the harsh realities of a developing country in poverty.

As a part of the health program, today we were allowed the opportunity to shadow Mama Winifreda, one of the administrators of home based care, to witness first hand the HIV/AIDS problem in Africa. We met a beautiful girl named Christina, who was an eight year old girl diagnosed four years ago with HIV. She was smaller than a usual eight year old and had a large rash on the back of her leg, typical for a girl with HIV. The reality of her situation was clearly understood when we learned that both of her parents had died from AIDS, and her aunt and uncle taking care of her could only afford one meal a day. We learned that many HIV patients become sick when taking their medicine if they do not have anything to eat, and so becomes a problem for poor HIV patients. After we met with the girl, Josh asked me what I thought and all I could say is “it’s real”. I feel like this is one of the realities that we must see and understand to truly comprehend the true dynamics of the Zambezi community. The country of Zambia has an extreme HIV/AIDS problem, with nearly 1 out of 5 people affected by the disease. It is this problem that we all want to address and solve, but the solutions are often blocked by even larger problems. The reality is that there is HIV/AIDS in Zambia and that many children and adults are affected by this debilitating disease.

Another reality of Zambezi that I have seen though, is the compassion, love and care that people have for one another. The reality is that all of the home based caregivers are volunteers. Without any payment these caregivers, who are often the same socioeconomic class as their patients, walk miles to see and care for their patients. They spend countless hours with their patients and often provide food and money that they do not have themselves. One home based caregiver even walked 27 km (about 3 hours) just to meet with us and learn about caring for patients with malaria. It is this reality that gives me hope for the village of Zambezi. These caregivers have become my role model, as their unselfish dedication for the sick in need is unmatched. Despite the overwhelming challenges of HIV/AIDS in this poor country, we cannot help but to continue to hope because of the people like the volunteers at home based care.

Jonathan Droessler, Class of 2013

The boy is about eight inches shorter than I am, even though he is sixteen.  He hunches his thin shoulders a little; a habit that gives him a humble, distinctive look. He speaks quietly in articulate English.  His button-down shirts are typically a little tight, and his pants a little baggy.  His head is shaved, and his eyelashes are extra-curled.  His smile is wide, perfectly straight, and ready to show itself, hovering at the corners of his lips as though he anticipates the need of it in a moment.  His eyes are spaced a little apart, which draws your attention to them.  As if you could miss them.  He fixes them intently on you; eager, invested, sincere, mature, and dancing a little.

He sidles up to me through the group of students.  I greet him warmly with a Zambian-style handshake and my best “Musana mwane!” I met him on our first visit to Chilena Basic School. I ask him about his lessons, and he draws continents in the sand with his shoe to explain the day’s geography class.  He glances at the pineapple yellow mountain bikes Hikaru and I ride to school, and takes a step closer.

“Can I…can I…?” he says, not forcefully, but hopefully.  How can I refuse the boy with those eyes that shine?

In my memory, I watch his short lap around the sandy schoolyard: triumphant, joyful, simple.

The moment itself is simple, that much is true.  A boy rides a bicycle.  Yet the boy has no father, and is the man of his household.  He struggles to pay his school fees.  And even if he manages to complete Grade 12, what then?  Will he be given the opportunity to attend higher-level education?  Perhaps his words can shed light on the “simplicity” that so many of us crave to encounter in Africa.  When I asked this boy what he wanted to be when he grew up, he laughed first, and then reluctantly said, “An accountant.”  When I asked him why he laughed, his voice carried a dousing realism for his ebullient American interviewer: “Things are not so easy… It is a lot of school for an accountant… It is very expensive… It does not always work out that way.”

My time in Zambia has been a patchwork of these extremes.  The kaleidoscope of chitenge colors clash with the tattered clothing of the children gathered around the convent.  The rich fruits that color our table every morning at breakfast are absent from the meals of many.  My expectation to have electricity and running water has been disrupted, yes; but I am more moved by the realization that many families would never dream of having either in the first place.

But there is also beauty in this conflict of opposites.  My private American exterior is warmed by the salutations of every person (and yes, I mean every person) I meet on the road.  Despite their limited resources and supplies, the enthusiasm and tenacity of Zambian students outshines their hardships.  The deeply connected community of Zambia is evident in every action and interaction, and challenges the isolation and loneliness so many of us experience in our lives.

As I continue my time in Zambezi, I will remember the boy with the bicycle.  As with so many things here; joy is tainted with sorrow, life is touched by death, love with longing, and peace with restlessness.  It is only within the tension between these two extremes that we will be able to find, make, and share meaning with each other and with our Zambian brothers and sisters.

And I know that somewhere within the paradox of Zambia is the beauty we are all searching for.

Peace. Love.

Erin

P.S.  Megan, I love you man.  I miss you like crazy.  I cry whenever you post comments, which makes at least three other people cry. Let’s never do this again!  If you can, bring plain ol’ flip-flops, wet ones (lots), more liquid shampoo, a razor, and more food.  But no pressure.  See you on the tarmac, seester!

P.P.S. Mom and Dad, I will never doubt you again.  Everything you said I’d want, and I didn’t bring, I’ve desperately wanted.  You are very wise.  I love you, and miss you so much!

P.P.P.S. John, I think you’re probably in the wilderness right now, but I think of you every day…a lot.  I promise.  I love you!

Wandering down a dirt road on my way back from teaching my first English class at the Chilenga Basic School, I began to ask myself, “what just happened?” A walk, which was supposed to take no more than thirty minutes from the school back to the center of Zambezi had taken more than two hours. By the time I had reached the convent back in town I had been invited twice to share a traditional kasava/nshima meal on my way back from school the next day, helped a friend of the GU community, Mama Catherine, carry water back to her house, and was asked if I would name the expectant child of a Zambezi couple I had just met shortly after being invited into their home.

Everywhere you go there is someone eager to meet you – someone craving just to say hello, just to be in your presence. At times the number of people yearning for a bit of your time can be overwhelming; however, as I try to search for some sort of deeper meaning in our day to day adventures I realize there is something special about the simplicity of just living in the moment. Here in Zambezi, things rarely run on a regular time schedule. In a computer class that starts at 9, we still have people strolling in at 9:50. It doesn’t matter what you do or what you accomplish with the people here. What matters is your presence and your intentionality. Never have I been in a place where people will so passionately dance and sing to welcome you. Never have I seen such genuine love painted in the smiles of total strangers. Here in Zambezi, life rolls at a much different pace – a pace in which you can’t help but think about the miracle of the human experience. To realize that in this short life we are so inextricably bound, so intimately interrelated to everyone around us is truly a miracle.

“Man is nothing without men. He lives in their hands and dies in their hands”

–       African Proverb

Our time in Zambezi has already touched the hearts and minds of so many of us. I feel so blessed to continue sharing in this glorious experience as we continue to grow learn from one another with each and every passing day.

J. Blake Carr

Class of 2014

The year was 1971 when a man named Father Crispin decided to build one of the few bridges that stretch across the Zambezi River. After seeing a picture of a suspension bridge in National Geographic, he decided to take on the challenge of building his own version of it (regardless of the fact that he had no previous experience as an engineer). When a small boat capsized on the river, killing its three passengers, Father Crispin was determined to design a safer way across.

Our Gonzaga group had the chance to cross this bridge yesterday as we ventured from Zambezi to Chinyingi. Since its completion in 1974, the bridge has not been renovated or remade. This fact was the source of excitement for some and fear for others, but we only lost one group member to the crocodiles, so we’re all in agreement that it was a worthwhile endeavor. Just kidding! Everyone passed safely over the smooth, shimmering waters, and we spent a glorious day exploring the unknown. Without the bridge, we might not have been able to soak in the vibrant blues and yellows that lit up the walls of the priests’ house, or channel our inner Owen (our director Josh’s 5-year-old son) on the most incredible playground we’d ever seen.

Unless we are willing to cross the seemingly unstable bridges that stand between ourselves and the new experiences that await us on the other side, we will miss valuable opportunities to learn and grow. Our visit to Chinyingi reminded me to consciously choose to step out of my comfort zone whenever I have the chance. Also, much like Father Crispin, we have a picture of what we want to do here, but we aren’t always sure of how to go about doing it. He saw that there was a need and decided to figure it out on his own, regardless of whether he was qualified or prepared to do so. Through our interactions with the people of Zambia, we hope to build bridges between communities and countries through accompaniment and a genuine desire to understand one another (even when we feel unprepared and unqualified as Father Crispin did). Tomorrow morning will be my first time teaching seventh graders in Zambia, not to mention my first time teaching any class in a formal school setting. While we have prepared detailed lesson plans and understand that the students’ English speaking abilities will vary, there is no way that we can fully prepare ourselves for what tomorrow will bring.

Three days into this experience, I am realizing that there is so much about this journey that I cannot control. For example, the power generators have a mind of their own, so we’ve already enjoyed a few candlelit dinners and hours without running water. Dealing with no power and chilly showers is the easy part; we all recognize that our living conditions in the convent are still far more comfortable than those of our new Zambian friends. The challenge comes when I cannot provide a drink to every child who asks me for water. I can’t feed all the kids I know are hungry, or provide a driven student with a scholarship to continue their education. This is something that we as a group are already struggling with, and I know that it will only become more difficult as beautiful people continue to reach out for our hands and find homes in our hearts. That being said, Zambia is reminding me to focus on what I can control rather than the multitude of things that I can’t change during my limited amount of time here.

Whether at home or abroad, we are all forced to deal with aspects of our lives that are out of our hands. However, we also possess valuable assets that no hardship or heartbreak can ever strip us of without our consent: our attitudes and our [Z]ambitions. If all I can give is a few hours of my time or a smile to settle someone’s spirits, then that is exactly what I’m going to do. I will choose to see the opportunities for growth in Zambia instead of viewing its problems and poverty as something that I will never be able to fully fix. I will seek out the serenity of the sunsets and give my undivided attention to each person that I interact with. If the wisdom I gain from Zambezi sticks to my brain as easily as the dirt sticks to my feet, I will return home with a fuller heart than I ever could have imagined had I not known this place. We have hardly begun to scratch the surface of all that our time here has to offer, but I already get the feeling that these weeks will pass us by in the blink of an eye. I aspire to be present in everything that I do in Zambezi, because before I know it, these new moments will have turned themselves into treasured memories.

Keep growing, keep living, keep searching, and keep loving.

“Pain throws your heart to the ground/ love turns the whole thing around/ no it won’t all go the way it should/ but I know the heart of life is good.” -John Mayer

Love on love,

Brittney Boland

P.S. Mom- You wouldn’t believe how fast I take showers here. Once I get home, the only person driving up the water bill will be bath boy. The women here are some of the strongest (in every sense of the word) that I’ve ever seen; they remind me of you on a daily basis. I love you!

T- Since this might be the only chance I have to say it, congrats on graduating! I’m so proud of you and all that you’ve accomplished. I couldn’t ask for a better brother (or a more amazing human to know, period). Today, I listened to “Welcome to Africa” in Africa…it was so surreal! I miss you & love you always.

For the past eight months I was living in Florence, Italy and now I’m here in Zambezi, Zambia.  In some ways, life is very different here then it was back in Florence and both are different than my life in the US. However, through traveling I have learned that it is more interesting to learn about the human condition than it is to criticize all the differences between countries and cultures.   At the end of the day, I also end up learning more about myself and appreciate the world and the people around.

Before coming here I watched the movie Invictus, which tells the story of Nelson Mandela and his first year in office as the President of South Africa.   Throughout the movie, Morgan Freeman who plays Nelson Mandela, refers to a poem titled Invictus by William Ernest Henley, it goes like this:

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how straight the gate,

How changed with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.

This is our third day in Zambezi and it seems as though I have been here much longer.  Everyone is so welcoming and kind, I can’t believe I’m living in the same world I was living in three days ago.  I thought I would mention this poem in the blog today because it reminds me of that human condition I am so desperately trying to understand.  And so far in Zambezi I can see traces of the strength that fills each and every face we encounter.  It is the strength that we all have to keep on moving with our lives no matter the circumstance, no matter the black pits we bump into, and no matter the Horrors.  Life keeps going with or without our consent.  And we all have the power to take control of our lives and make of them what we wish.  The people here, especially the children, have such an eternal life about them.   They seem so happy just to be alive.   At the end of this experience I think we will be the ones that are the most changed.  For the people we meet here, we might just become another chindele (white person) that came and stayed for a while.  But for us this experience will change the way we think, the way we act, and the way we live the rest of our lives.   I am excited and scared to live out the rest of this experience.  Excited because each day will bring a new challenge and scared because I don’t know if I will be up for that challenge.   Each and every day I will try to remember this poem though, and remind myself to find the strength that I need because life keeps going with or without my consent.

Christina Bernal, Class of 2013

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

After 34 hours of traveling the Gonzaga students and faculty have safely arrived in Zambezi, Zambia.  They left Seattle on Tuesday evening, flew to London, powered through a seven hour layover, hopped on a ten hour flight to Lusaka (the capital of Zambia) and ended their journey with a three hour flight on a Flying Missions bush plane into Zambezi.

The Gonzaga team was greeted at the Zambezi landing strip by students of Chilena Basic School who celebrated their arrival with singing, traditional dancing, and drumming.  For the past six years, this school has been an important partner – it has hosted Gonzaga student teachers with our literacy project and is the location of a new library that Zambia Gold Honey is assisting this community to build.  We are so appreciative of this relationship and the children were excited to welcome new Gonzaga friends to their community.

Students are settling into their new rooms and getting acquainted with Zambezi.  A formal orientation and introduction to each project will begin tomorrow, so there is not much time to recover from jet lag.  We will post a few first impressions of the Zambezi community tomorrow, hopefully…. the Zambezi community is experiencing a lack of electrical power now and we hope it will be back soon.

If you follow the Gonzaga-in-Zambezi Blog, you will likely hear about our Zambia Gold Honey project.  This rich organic honey from the Zambezi District is exported by our students to assist our partners in finding a sustainable market for their honey.  It is now on sale at GreenCupboards, a company started by Gonzaga alums.  A pretty sweet partnership, if you ask us.  Check out their blog below where you can find out more information about purchasing this honey, or go to www.zambiagold.org

http://www.greencupboards.com/blog/2012/05/01/zambia-gold-honey-for-change/