Gonzaga-in-Zambezi

It’s the small things. It’s the kind soul who lets one uneasy passenger {me} grasp onto his shoulder during the three hour trip to Zambezi as our five person bush plane dipped and swayed with the turbulent wind currents. It’s the warm embrace of old friends greeting us on the tarmac, as we entered Zambezi for the first time and the firm Zambian handshakes of our new ones. It’s the feel of a tiny hand grasped tightly in ours, fingers curled around ever so completely fitting into spaces we didn’t even know we had. It’s the absolute brilliance of the music we heard in church on Sunday, as the beat filled our ears along with every nook and cranny of the one room church house, until there was nowhere else for it to go but into our hearts. It’s the way the little ones scream, “how are you, how are you!?” after my fellow Ed group and I as we endure the hour long walk home from school each day. It’s how those “how are you’s” evolve from simple questions to conversations, to friendships. It’s the trail of kids that follow our every move, often accompanying us to the market where they will insist on carrying our newly purchased chitenges around, and where Moona, the tailor, turns those colorful chitenges into incredible masterpieces (so far our group’s collection includes, a drawstring bag, some dresses and a few totally sweet shorts). It’s the eagerness in the kids who wait outside our convent, as they ask for a ‘storybook’, a marker to draw with, or better yet, homework. It’s their bright, white smiles, so wide they literally grin from ear to ear. It’s the way Mama Josephine, our friend and luvale language teacher gave us a pumpkin and a bowl full of sweet potatoes as a parting gift for simply visiting her home (which, by the way, had the most incredible view of the Zambezi River). It’s the simple tangerine one of my students places ever so gently in my hand, as they extend such a sincere form of generosity to me, when they alone have so little. It’s the unreal show Africa puts on each evening as the sun paints the sky with a brilliant display of the most vibrant oranges, pinks, and purples I have ever seen. As one of our group members, Jay, whispered to me while on safari in Botswana, “Only God could paint something so beautiful”.

It’s the small things. And the Zambian people seem to get that so well. It’s a simple relationship, uninterrupted conversation, handshake; a direct look in the eye.

It’s the little moments in our lives that awaken our souls the most. It’s those moments that often go unnoticed; moments sometimes no one else sees, yet they are powerful moments where you have a profound experience with the incredible humanity that surrounds us each day no matter where you are in the world. It’s those small, yet powerful moments when you realize we are all the same. We all have the same hopes, fears, wants and needs. Most importantly we all have the intrinsic desire to be loved. I am constantly reminded of how powerful love really is by how freely the Zambian people give it. Their love is starkly apparent in their smiles, their hello’s, their hearty handshakes and amazing ability make anyone and everyone feel welcomed.

It’s the small things. It’s those small moments that make me feel alive; that make my heart full of wonder for this amazing life we are all living…together.

“Remember the little things for one day you’ll look back and realize they were the big things.”

Kisu mwane, {blessings}
Kate Van Amringe, Class of ‘14

P.s- Mom and dad I love you guys so much. You are constantly on my mind and there have been so many moments that I wish I could have shared with you. I will forever be grateful for all the opportunities you have given me, including this one. You both are amazing and I am so lucky to have such a loving support team. You guys are the absolute BEST.

P.p.s- Linds and Griff miss you guys like crazy. Linds- the elephants were amazing and I was thinking of you constantly during it all and griff I’ve seen some pretty sweet dreads….i may (or may not) be coming around to the idea 🙂

P.p.p s.- to all my friends and family back home I love and miss you all and can’t wait to share all I’ve seen and learned!

Oh and one last thing…..Blake and Erin if you guys are reading…Gram and Sharon’s baby was born!

Before coming to Zambezi we were all aware of the many luxuries that would be absent from our lives during our time here. Having but a few changes of clothes, the separation from the technology that rules our lives, and of course the cold showers never concerned me. In fact I was looking forward to a life in which I could live in these simple means. But the thought never crossed my mind that our showers would not have a shower curtain. A simple luxury, yet a provider of such a strong sense of security, gone.

Be Vulnerable: the second listed promise on the group contract we all created together one of our first nights here in Zambezi. One of the most important things I have learned while being here came to me as I hopped into a cold shower after a sunrise run. At first, I was uncomfortable with the open corner shower I quickly cleaned myself in, but now I see all the beauty in being uncovered and exposed.

I am constantly finding happiness in my time here and sometimes I can’t help my lips from curling into a grin. Being in Zambezi, it is easy to be happy because it is easy to be, easy to be free. The people here welcome us into their community, their homes, and their lives with the deepest pride.

I think I surprised myself when recognizing all the things I do to put up walls, to draw the curtains, to give myself that sense of security so that I can hide all that makes me vulnerable.

I find myself asking, why do we barricade our souls with walls to separate ourselves from others? Here the people are in such a deep-rooted sense of community and family and they take care of one another in such a way that there is no need for someone to be closed off. The people here are open, they are free to be with each other. In many ways coming from the States we come from a mentality that you have to look out for number one, which in turn makes us close ourselves off. In contrast, people here understand that if one struggles they all struggle, if one triumphs they all triumph. I have seen this when a group of boys helps the other to sound out a difficult word while reading in the courtyard. I have seen this in our leadership class when people share with us their life stories. I have seen this within our own group here as we all pitch in to copy lesson plans and homework for classes and activities that we won’t be participating in.

Why do we fear to open up our deepest thoughts and being to the world? Why do we remain to lead lives that are comfortable that don’t present challenges that test who we are as people? Being here has made me understand more than ever that we like to hide our own humanity. We attempt to protect our hearts but in the process we smother our potential.

I came into this trip expecting to have my eyes opened but I am glad that the doors to my heart and soul have been lifted off their hinges.

Everyday we are presented with the opportunities to be vulnerable and to open up. Whether it be talking to a member in my leadership class, having a life chat with one of the beautiful people I am experiencing this adventure with, dancing our “Chindele” asses off for the Makishi, or washing the days dirt and sand from another’s feet and having your own feet cleansed; we are all able to let go of our insecurities; you just have to say yes.

As I strive to “keep my heart wide” I am beginning to understand what it means to be free.

Mateo Trujillo
Class of 2014

P.S. Mom and Dad: With all my time here you have always been present with me. I really wish there were words for me to express to you my love and appreciation for both of you. All I am doing is my process to becoming a man you can be proud of. I love you very much, and Happy Late Birthday Ma!

Marcos and Milan and Mia: I hope you guys are doing well. The Armstrong family constantly reminds me of us, three boys and now the new addition Grace to the family. I bet the Daytrader concert was amazing. You are always here, especially when listening to Clarity as I made early morning breakfast with Megan. Mia I hope you did well on your finals and all the studying paid off. Keep that kid off of you. I miss you guys so much. Love you. And Happy Late Birthday too Marcos!

On the very first page of my journal I wrote, “Don’t wait for Africa to transform you.” Today marks the halfway point in the trip and already I cannot believe that I have to leave in two short weeks. I have learned so much from the people who surround me, the Zambians, the Armstrong family, and my fellow students. On a long morning run I talked with a few friends about the trip so far and we all agreed that it would be impossible to explain Zambezi because it is something that must be experienced. There is no picture or words to describe long days, unbelievable starry nights, and deep discussion about the meaning of life. The best I can do to share this experience is reflecting on a few moments of Grace that I will cherish forever.

When the wheels of the small airplane that carried us to Zambezi touched the landing strip, there are truly no words to describe the overwhelming wave of emotion that filled my heart and traveled through my body. I made it! The trip that I had been preparing for and anticipating was here for me to experience and make my own. Like I had been told so many times before, my expectations were shattered as tears streamed down my face and happiness filled my heart. I almost wanted to pinch myself because it felt more like a dream than reality. Children swarmed the airplane; the first group who had made Zambezi their home boarded our planes sharing brief hugs and tears. Although I was across the world from my home, I looked around at the members of my group and what seemed to be most of the Zambezi community and realized that we were all meant to be here. This moment on the landing strip was filled with Grace.

As many students have shared, there are wonderful days here in Zambezi, but as human beings there are also difficult times within most days. One of the places that the health group teaches is in the Chilenga basic school, about an hour walk from the convent where we live. On my very first walk back to the convent I felt an entire spectrum of emotions. In the beginning I was excited to be walking with the students from the school as well as my friends who had been teaching with me. I was enjoying every minute of the walk for the first half with kids on my arms and interesting conversations, but as the second half came around I began to fall behind focusing more on my physical exhaustion and hunger than the beauty around me. I was immediately snapped out of this when a passing woman carrying a baby on her back and a large bag on her head asked me if I was tired. Once again the people of this place were able to amaze me with their large, open hearts and compassion. I not only felt welcomed here, I felt a sense of shared humanity. This strong Zambian woman, who I only spoke with for a few minutes, filed my day with Grace.

Today, I visited the Falconer House where Josh and his family adopted their Zambian daughter Grace. I traveled with Josh, his wife, his three boys, Nolan Grady and the health care group for over an hour to see this place where Grace had lived for the past four years. I can say with confidence that every one who has met beautiful Grace has fallen in love with her large heart and smile. Watching Grace interact with her new family, the children who crowd outside the convent, and the students she sees every day I am constantly amazed by this four-year-old girl who seems to know so much about life. She is so happy and so capable of giving and receiving love. When we went to visit her old home for the first time since the Armstrongs had adopted her we had no idea what to expect. When the van we had been traveling in arrived, children who wanted to greet their old friend immediately surrounded us to welcome us and say hello to Grace. This place was amazing, run by a former orphan who fell in love with the only place he knew as home, and sustained by love and a desire to continue Ms. Falconer legacy of caring for orphaned children unconditionally. Amidst the overwhelming crowds of people who had come to greet us I watched as Josh’s five-year-old son Owen reached out his hand to his new sister and held it tight asking: “Grace, are you okay?” This young boy knew exactly what she needed, and blessed my day with another moment of Grace.

Here in Zambezi, my classmates have become my family. We challenge one another in our nightly reflections with thought provoking questions about what it means to be human, to be living amidst poverty, to be a part of a broken world where we don’t have all of the answers. We value each member of the group inside and outside of the convent gates for their talents and their individual stories. We empower each other to be our authentic selves and to see the goodness amidst the hardship. I have fallen in love with Africa, with the people who surround me; with the family of both classmates and Zambians I have been so blessed to share a month with in this new home. When I first settled into my room a note was left for its new residents with a simple message: “Clean eyes, full heart, can’t loose.” I have realized by trying to pick only a few short stories that moments of Grace are happening all around me every day. And with that I am falling in love with Life.

Analise Thornley
Class of 2015

P.S. Mom, Dad and Ben thank you for teaching me the importance of family and how to give and receive love unconditionally. I cannot express how grateful I am for this experience. You are in my heart every step of this journey and I am excited to share Zambezi with you when I return home.

PSS. To all of our family and friends, sorry for not posting a group picture, we are all safe and well here in Zambezi, loving life and living it to the fullest!

PSSS. Brittney and Katie, I am living in your old room now, thank you for the warm welcome and I loved the words of wisdom!!

I have never realized how much I use a mirror. Here at the convent, where we are staying in Zambezi, there is not a single mirror. In fact, I have seen very few mirrors throughout my time in Zambia. This small fact speaks volumes about the difference in the lifestyle I am use to, the lifestyle of a middle class, American college student, and the lifestyle of the beautiful Zambian people.

In America, the first thing I do is wake up and look in the mirror. I spend an excessive amount of time in my warm, comfortable shower. I use my overpriced shampoo, body wash, acne cleanser, shaving cream, and razor. I have to make sure that my body and my clothes are socially acceptable before I step outside of my perfectly air- conditioned home. If I am not wearing my freshest Nikes when I go to class or my Sunday best when I go into the middle school classrooms for my field experience, I feel that I will not be fully respected. Why is it that I do this? Do I dress this way for myself or because society has created unwritten laws that I have to look a certain way? Do I act the way I do because it is who I am or because it is the only way to earn respect? Am I being my truly authentic self or am I just being a puppet that western culture is controlling?

Here in Zambezi, I have found that I am loved for exactly who I am. I am accepted not because of the way I appear or for the talents I have. I am not looked down upon because I have a gnarly, patchy beard or because I get my Chindele butt kicked at soccer by children less than half my age. People here look beyond our outside appearance better than anyone I have ever met. The mere fact that we are human and we are living beside them is enough. I can truly be myself here. I can whip out the dorkiest dance moves in the world among thirty African children and be completely comfortable with it. I can walk into the classroom ready to teach in a simple polo shirt, the same khaki pants I have worn all week, dirty shoes, and an unshaven face and get more respect than I ever would in America if I was dressed to impress.

It pains me greatly to think that many of the people here with whom I have quickly created a strong relationship with would be just faces on a busy city street in America. They would be people that society would have convinced me to stay away from simply because of the way they physically appear. I would never have met Joe who hopes to be a pilot when he grows up or young Junior who hopes to be a soldier one day. I would never have met all of the extremely talented members of the choir who so willingly invited me to come play music with them. I would never have met some of the most beautiful people this world has ever seen. While these people are lacking in money and material possessions, they are rich in community, love, authenticity, and compassion. While it is heart wrenching to see the condition in which many of these people are living, I can’t say I have ever seen a community living out its humanity more fully.

This leads me to consider a very complex and possibly unanswerable question. A question that has been on my mind ever since we crawled out of our tiny bush planes into a crowd of excited children. Which country is poorer, the United States or Zambia?

I would like to end with a quote from an article we reflected on as a group titled We See From Where We Stand by David Diggs:

“We see that we are all in need, rich and poor. The poor know they are in need. By contrast, we, the wealthy and powerful of the world, are often oblivious to our needs. We frantically try to fill our emptiness with more and more stuff, more and more activity, but without satisfaction. Our endless pursuit of material wealth is a sign of our spiritual poverty. But being with the poor- as opposed to merely doing things for them- can bring a spiritual awakening and be the beginning of our liberation. We see from where we stand, and, for many of us, to stand with the poor is to begin to see God for the first time.”

Jayson Orth
Class of 2014

P.S. Mom and Pops, I love you more than I can say and miss you very much. I can’t wait to sit outside, eat some barbequed burgers, throw the ball for the pup, and tell you about my trip. You are on my mind every day.

P.P.S. Ry, Enjoy your last few weeks in Houston. I can’t wait to come visit you at your new crib in Colorado! See you soon brotha!

Family and Friends of Group One: The first group has arrived safely in Lusaka after having the opportunity to explore some of the beauties of Livingstone including a safari trip to Botswana and one of the natural wonders of the world in Victoria Falls. They will be departing for London tomorrow morning, and we will keep you updated on their progress home! And now a blog post from Group Two’s very own, Erin Murphy

Melissa and her "sister friends"

As the three-hour mass at Our Lady of Fatima Church came to a close and we all processed out, with the harmonious sounds of the choir carrying us through the doors, I heard a distant chirp of, “ Erin! Erin! Erin,” (sounding more like “Elin”) coming from behind me. I searched through the sea of men chatting and the flock of women in their bright chitenges to find my ten-year-old friend, Charity, waving and smiling at me. She quickly grabbed my hand and asked me to come to her house for a visit. Since we had nothing planned for the day I enthusiastically accepted her offer and we set off on the short walk to her home.

When we arrived, Charity’s mother Harriet, her brother Richard, her sister Paxine and her new niece Gift, met me at the doorway. They all immediately embraced me with a cheerful, “Musana Mwane,” and told me to come in. As I entered their crowded 10×10 home, I couldn’t help but feel sad about what I considered their “poor living conditions.” However, they were not only happy to have this home but they were proud of it. Charity showed their family photos to me and pointed out how cool it was that the baby blanket she once used is the one that her new niece, Gift, was currently wrapped up in my arms with. After spending a few hours with these people and chatting about everything from Jackie Chan to our hopes and aspirations I couldn’t help but have a pit in my stomach for how I had approached this situation. I entered their home and immediately saw what they didn’t have instead of what they did have.

On my walk back to the convent I had time to reflect on my own ignorance and I began to realize just how much I see the worst parts of situations before I see the best parts. Living in America I believe that we all tend to see the glass as half empty much more frequently than we tend to see it as half full. How often does our need to point out people’s flaws keep us from admiring their talents? How often do we see a person as a stranger before we give them the chance to be our friend? How often does the poverty of a country prevent us from seeing the richness it has to offer? How often does the ugliness of the world blind us from seeing the beauty in it? Negativity and skepticism run our lives and in many cases they prevent us from seeing the best that this world has to offer. If we spend our lives as guarded and judgmental people we will miss out on all the goodness that is constantly surrounding us.

Here in Zambia we have been confronted with this “goodness” like a head-on collision. It is in the children that greet us at the gate every morning just to spend time with us. It is in the home-based care providers that spend their lives helping others. It is in the members of the computer class that want to be able to use technology to connect to the world around them. It is in the students in the leadership class that have a burning desire to improve their community. It is in the students who want nothing more than to go to school. It is in the gaggle of girls braiding our hair that ask to be our “sister friends.” It is in the families that welcome us into their homes and see the goodness in us despite our misgivings.

I think that everyone could use a lesson from the people of Zambia in appreciating everything that we have. I believe that if we all take the chance to reflect on our own lives we will realize that goodness actually, is all around.

Erin Murphy, Class of 2015

P.S. Mom, Dad, Maddie, Jack and Reggie I miss you all and cannot thank you enough for all that you do. You fill my life with more goodness than I could ever ask for. Who loves you more than me?

P.P.S. To the rest of my family and friends I want to let you know that I miss you dearly and cannot wait to be reunited with you all shortly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Kyle Holbrook

Class of 2013

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brady Essmann

Class of 2014

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be bold, be Zambitious,

Alex Dickman, Class of 2014

P.S.

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

P.P.S.

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

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

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

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

YOLO,

Megan

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

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

Chingalala HIV/AIDS Support Group

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kisu Mwane

Senator Lisa Brown, Gonzaga faculty