Brendan McKeegan and I teaching a 7th grade geography class at Zambezi Day School.
I’ve struggled to understand what it means to be an American. We are “the land of the free,” the country with the most opportunities. People desire to come to America to live out “the American dream.” At times I get it, but other times, I really don’t. We were informed, days after arriving in Zambezi, that there was a shooting in Uvalde, Texas, in a fourth-grade classroom where 19 children and two adults were shot and killed. Who would want to live in a country where there have been more mass shootings and lives lost than days this year? I’ve struggled with what it means to be an American.
After arriving at the Chilenga Primary School this morning, I was quickly placed in an 8th grade classroom. I had no lesson plan and no books to work from. I had to teach on the fly. I tried to explain the importance of forming opinions, and how “there are no wrong answers”— something that is hard for most students to grapple with since they are taught that there is only one right answer. I soon recognized that the curriculum in the US is built on critical thinking and applying concepts to life scenarios. While my education is something that I am grateful for, I struggled with understanding why teachers didn’t tell me or my parents that I was reading at a grade 2 level when in the fifth grade. I struggled with reading my whole life, and due to our education system, they were required to just move me on to the next grade or put me in the “special class” without guiding me or helping me grow. I’ve struggled with what it means to be an American.
Once the period was over, I found Dr. Catherine Zeisner interviewing teachers at the Chilenga school. She and I share a common interest for young children’s emotional learning. It is her goal to discover how Zambia supports their learners’ wellbeing— something I feel the US is lacking. Dr. Zeisner asked the teachers of Chilenga school questions on the matters I’ve been struggling to find the answers to as an American.
“Are people here depressed?”
“No.” A Chilenga science teacher replied.
“Do people, or students, commit suicide?”
“No.” the teacher says.
“Why?” asks Catherine.
“It’s because we work with our hands. When we take a seed to plant it in the ground, we care for that seed because it is our livelihood” says the teacher. “We are taught at a young age that if we want to get out of here, we must get an education…. We grow together as a community, and we raise each other as a community and our church communities provide our children spiritual health.”
As an American, we struggle with the disconnection between the Earth, education, church, and the power of community. The people of Zambezi embody these things. They take the seeds that they have, care for them, and grow fruits and vegetables to eat or sell for profit. At last Friday’s tree planting to celebrate World Environment Day at Chilenga School, with Mama Love and the Save the Environment and People Agency (SEPA), you could see the determination that these people have to save the environment that surrounds them. As Mama Love stated, “If we don’t act now, we will all die.” This is one example of why I question to be an American. While we have so many resources to save the planet, we lack the willingness to act on it. Additionally, the teacher mentioned how our education system in the US is a “culture of coddling”. Unlike in America, where most children’s hands and held through their experiences, children in Zambezi are told that education is their only opportunity to get out of poverty. They are encouraged by their community and the church to strive and do well in order to make something of themselves. There is a well-known social philosophy in southern Africa called “Ubuntu— I am because we are, and we are because I am. This is what we need to learn and embody as Americans.
As we only have 10 more days here in Zambezi, I encourage the students on this trip and our readers to learn from the leaders and the community that we have created here. How and what can we do better once we return home to be better Americans? To work with our hands to be better people, but also do more for the environment, our education, our religion, our communities, and very importantly, our children.
Benson, one of the Chilenga teachers, reminded us that it will take many of us to act in a way that will create change: “One finger can’t pick the lice; it always takes two”
This was Josh’s response when I inquired about the massive spider in the corner of my shower on our first day in Zambezi. While I was certainly hoping for an enthusiastic offer to kill it for me, I was not surprised by Josh’s challenge. Zambezi is not a place to live in comfort – fears must be shut down or embraced; kill the spider or name it. Inspired by the goal to grow and push myself, and certainly influenced by fear of knocking the giant spider onto my face in attempt to kill it, I chose to name it. This has not been a comfortable or particularly enjoyable experience, but I have found myself becoming consistently less scared of my new friend. With something as simple as naming my shower spider, I have found myself steadily overcoming my fear of bugs. In many contexts, stepping into discomfort has given me countless chances to grow and adapt as an individual throughout the last week.
On Sunday morning, Joci and I walked for about a mile with our homestay sister, Grace, to go to mass at the Catholic church. We dropped our backpacks at the convent and asked Grace and her friends, Joy and Memory, to save us a few seats. We found them seated right behind the choir, who were wearing bright red matching polos. Grace motioned to the row in front of her and her friends, and Joci and I settled in. Excited for another vibrant expression of faith, we anxiously awaited the beginning of mass. Before we knew it, the choir and all the people around us stood up for the opening song. Trying to blend in as much as we could considering our obvious visible differences, Joci and I hesitantly stood up as well. As the songs began, the dancing did too. Soon enough, we were frantically trying to keep up with the impressive choral choreography. Not nearly as musically inclined as anyone around us, we tried our best to stay on beat as we pumped our arms, clapped, stomped, side stepped, turned, and jumped. We were encased in surround-sound joyful music, as apparently the red polos were a mere suggestion for the choral uniform. It took us a minute to realize, but Joci and I had been sat right in the middle of the choir. Once I realized what happened, my immediate response was to quietly slide out of the row and find a seat somewhere else where I could be an observer and not a performer. Josh’s advice came to mind again. “You can either kill it or name it.” I decided in this moment to embrace the awkwardness and the out of place feelings instead of running away from the discomfort. The dances only got more intricate, but I only got more comfortable. By the end of the service, Joci and I were proudly humming along, staying on beat with our steps, and we even figured out the timing of the climactic jump-clap in the middle of the final song! The service, which was lovely, ended with a Father David giving a shoutout to Josh and “the new members of the St. Cecelia Youth Choir.” I was beaming after being awarded my new title, as I felt incredibly welcomed and appreciated in response to taking a risk. My step into discomfort was rewarded with celebration, laughter, and significant strengthening of my sense of community.
Such initial fear or awkwardness has also taken shape in our class. The students in our business and leadership class are activists, church leaders, teachers, parents, politicians, and businesspeople. Their views on leadership are nuanced and thoughtful, which is beautiful to see and learn from. At the same time, I don’t often feel qualified to instruct such incredible, experienced people. There have been many times when I felt like I should remove myself from our class and just listen instead of trying to teach anything. Even so, our course needs direction, and I have worked hard to embrace my role as a facilitator and sharer of knowledge. We push our students to consider new perspectives, which is perhaps the most challenging, yet rewarding, part of this course so far. We recently introduced the concept of servant leadership in class. Our students met it with surprising backlash, even declaring that “you cannot lead if you do not have power.” I felt very uncomfortable in this class, not knowing what to say or how to direct the conversation. I did a clumsy job stumbling through an alternate explanation and argument and left class feeling frazzled and embarrassed. Today, my discomfort was rewarded once again. Boyd, one of our most devoted students, pulled me aside after class. He told me about how he used to think that democratic leadership was ideal, but now he wants to lean into servant leadership in his church community. He has found a new concern with the people he leads and said that our comments inspired him to think of others first. My heart swelled; I felt so proud of our students and our work as facilitators. Despite my discomfort leading a course where I do not necessarily feel like an expert, Boyd’s comments were affirming and showed us that our work does indeed make a different here in Zambezi. We have exchanged so much knowledge with our students, much of which would not have happened by living in comfort.
Mary, my new Auntie, and her husband James
Finally, we have been tasked with interviewing a community member for our Writing Traveler class. I found myself with a few free hours this afternoon, so I walked over to Mary and James’ home. They are both tailors and I have met them twice before today, but only in accompaniment with Jeff, who considers them good friends. I had never been one to approach others for friendship, and I rarely like to go anywhere by myself. Today, though, I decided to push myself into discomfort once again. I went on my first solo walk in Zambezi, which was an empowering experience of freedom, independence, and confidence in my knowledge of the area. I successfully navigated to their home and walked up to their door to ask for Mary. She came outside, enthusiastically greeted me with a handshake and hugs, and grabbed me a chair to sit and chat. Mary embodies humility, hard work, and love and her story is inspiring and heartwarming. But even more memorable is her spectacular laugh. Mary’s giggles light up the room and fill everyone around her with joy. I could not stop smiling the entire time I was with her. Not only did our conversation solidify our friendship, as she invited me to call her Auntie Mary and to come back any time, but it also provided me with one of the most authentic, profound moments of joy that I have had in Zambia so far. This simple moment of laughing with a new friend stemmed from the bravery to embrace discomfort. Had I shied away from walking somewhere on my own or approaching someone that I wasn’t sure would remember me, I would not have gotten to appreciate Mary’s inspiring story, her infectious laugh, or our new friendship.
Embracing the discomfort is incredibly challenging for me, but it has paid off in indescribable ways here in Zambezi. Fears are overcome, connections are deeper, learning is more meaningful, and smiles are bigger when we take the challenging route through adversity.
Finally, I would like to send our love to everyone at home who is reading along with our blog and keeping us in your thoughts. We can feel your support from here and are loving reading your comments and keeping you updated. We hope you are all well.
Kisu mwane, Andie Rosenwald, Class of 2024
P.S. Shoutout to Abigail McWhirter Martin (Johnston). We had a wonderful birthday celebration for her today (it may have included some baby powder).
The past 48 hours have been hectic, exciting, unique, and humbling. On Saturday morning, we all helped coach Sports for Life. The goal of this event is to teach children that engaging in physical activity together is not only good for their mental and physical health, but it can help strengthen the community. There were 13 stations where children from Zambezi and the surrounding villages had 7 minutes to learn and play different sports. I was tasked to be the timekeeper, which meant telling everyone to switch stations when the 7 minutes were up. Seems like an easy enough job, right? Well, it turns out that when 450 children are told to switch stations, but there has been no clear communication on which way they are rotating, it can cause quite the confusion. Sometimes the simplest tasks can be the trickiest. Despite this, the event ended successfully and to celebrate: a big dance party. You could see the joy on the children’s faces as they sang along and danced better than all of us.
After brunch and napping, the anticipation and anxiety about our homestays with local community members had set in. Many of us were scared to leave the convent, our newly made home, even if it was just for one night. What would the house and sleeping situation be like? Would we like the food? Would we have fun? The unknown felt terrifying. After stocking my overnight bag with extra blankets and food, I was as ready as I ever would be.
Blaine, Audrey, and I anxiously volunteered to go together and stay with a man named Kelly Saviye and his family. As soon as we met him our worries started to fade away. After a quick 1-minute drive (no I am not exaggerating), we arrived at his lovely and beautiful home where we met his wife Janet, his sister-in-law Audrey, and some of his children: Kokomo (23), Luwi (18), Benny (8). They all made me feel completely welcome. Mama Janet showed us how to make nshima from cassava flour, which we ate for dinner along with chicken and greens. After Kelly showed us around his property and taught some history about Zambezi, we went into the sitting room and happily chatted for hours. Our conversation ranged from politics to the different customs of Zambia and how that compares to the United States to sharing stories about our families. We even exchanged photos (my mother’s name is also Janet so Mama Janet loved the picture of my family and wanted to give a photo of herself to her “namesake”). I was completely surprised when around 8:30pm we were presented with tea and an abundance of food such as bread, rice, tomato soup, sweet potatoes, ground nuts, and hard-boiled eggs. We all eagerly enjoyed the delicious food and tea as we engaged in even more conversation that resulted in laughs and sharing of stories. As I crawled into bed with Audrey, we reflected on how we appreciated how vulnerable and gracious Kelly, Mama Janet, Luwi, Kokomo, Benny, and Audrey were to us. Through our conversation, I could tell that we all had a genuine desire to learn from one another, which resulted in authentic friendships and interpersonal development.
Kelly Saviye and his family with three Zags.
Waking up this morning, just like at home with my family, we got ready to go to church, but this time Zambian style! We had a delicious breakfast which included tea and samp, a traditional stew made of maize and ground nuts. Kelly is a pastor, and we were going to his Pentecostal church in a farther, more remote village. He started this church a few months ago so that people did not have to travel as far to get to church. When we walked in the door, we were greeted with smiling faces that were happy to have us here. We were proudly presented to the congregation of maybe 30 people, who took their time to sing us a traditional welcome song in Lunda (a local tribal language) and shake each of our hands. I felt truly valued and appreciated. Kelly diligently talked in English during his sermon, and Janet translated it in Lunda for the congregation. I am eternally grateful that I was able to hear and understand Kelly’s sermon in English, as it served as a reminder as to what I am doing here in Zambezi.
The sermon was about expanding your territory. Not expanding your physical property but expanding your connections and spiritual field. As Kelly asked us to think of a problem in our own “territory,” I focused on how I have been feeling the past couple days. We are about halfway through our time in Zambia, and although each day is filled with new and exciting experiences that I treasure, I have been finding myself longing for familiarity and home. I believe that home is a feeling of connection with others rather than a physical place. Kelly’s words gave me the courage to shift my focus outwards to present my true authentic self to Zambians, and my peers, as I pursue accompaniment. Although part of home is thousands of miles away, I can also create small feelings of home right here by striving to connect, engage, and listen in the best way that I can.
At the end of our stay, Kelly and his family gifted us a chicken and extra samp to bring back to the convent. This kind gesture of hospitality and care helped me realized that I too could help offer a sense of home to others in a variety of ways. Whether that be talking with one of my students after teaching health class while we clean up, asking the vendor when I get chocolate how they are doing and what the life of working in the market is like, or by just listening to one of my peers as we go for a walk. I have realized that finding a sense of home here isn’t the same as when I am at school in Washington or when I am with my family in Colorado, but there are many ways that I’m starting to see myself settling in and expanding my territory by looking at the people around me.
Today, Friday, June 3, 2022, marks exactly one week since arriving in the vibrant community of Zambezi. As each day passes, we have begun to understand our roles in this beautiful place. Most mornings, I head out for an early run with a large group, Paal, or sometimes just by myself, and, if I’m lucky, I catch the sunrise. Along with the breathtaking view of a fiery red sun breaking through the horizon and shedding light on the trees and plains along the Zambezi River, waking up early to explore the sandy streets of this community offers an opportunity to see an aspect of life here largely unseen, yet equally important to be shared.
After lacing up my shoes this morning, I quietly slipped out the convent doors to be welcomed by the noise of roosters both near and far. The sun hadn’t quite risen, but the light from its upward movement caused a grey-like illuminating effect on the sky, enough to see well enough in front of me and the perfect time to start running. Already, adults and children had begun biking or ox-carting goods towards the direction of the Zambezi market, and kids outfitted in plaid uniforms were walking in couplets towards the Zambezi Basic School. Returning from my run, three kids on their way to school waved hello and began running with me. Catherine, Robby, and Tina, fully suited in formal attire, found it perfect for running a mile or so with some random guy like myself before their day of school. They were on their way to the Basic School, where I happen to work at teaching physical education with Debby Kensoma. While they weren’t students I was familiar with, they expressed their excitement for their upcoming day. Parting ways, I couldn’t help but think that the people of Zambezi—just like some of you reading—get up early to provide for their families or livelihoods by working towards a goal or future with hopes of being in a better place than the day before.
As more time is spent here in Zambezi, unique opportunities to shed light on the lives and ways of living here seemingly emerge from nowhere, whether or not you’re ready. In my free time here, inspired by the casual nagging of my little sister (Hello, Mary, I hope you’re doing well), I carried along and read the book, A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickins. In this novel, I found a particularly significant line: “That every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.” This quote fits this trip as we have begun to explore that mystery of people who lead lives far different from our own in Eastern Washington. Additionally, I believe this quote highlights the focus of our purpose, accompaniment, walking alongside the Zambezi people with hopes to understand their way of life, or simply, their mystery.
Yesterday, after expressing interest in the trading methodology, I wandered to the river with Josh, seeking to understand the lives of the boatsman on the Zambezi. I met Gilbert, an angler who has been working for thirteen years catching Kapenta—a tiny type of fish, commonly seen dried—to provide for his family of three children. Every morning, he boats his wife across the river with the Kapenta caught from the day before to sell at the market and then proceeds to set his nets along the Zambezi River to later collect in the evening and repeat the process the next day. I also had the opportunity to meet Stewart, a man who provides a ferry service to cross the river from seemingly all times of day, primarily to deliver individuals looking to buy or sell items or goods at the Zambezi market. Crossing the river upwards of twenty times per day—no easy task—on a carved and chipped boat of Mukwa wood, Stewart practices a tradition of the Luvale Tribe, wherein the old teach the young the ways of crossing the Zambezi River through traditional practices.
Being an outsider, it could have been easy to see both Stewart, Gilbert, and all those trekking towards a day of work or study as mere conduits to a small-town economy and not offer much thought to their individuality or their livelihood. While their work may differ from ours, they too have experiences worth exploring and learning from that can contribute to our understanding of the Zambezi life and culture. While my insights are but a fraction of the group perspective, I believe we are all continually unfolding the mysteries and profound secrets of many individuals in this community. Tomorrow we depart the convent for our Home-stay, in which we spend a night with an unknown member of the Zambezi community. This blog will not be updated until Sunday afternoon (PST). If you’re reading this and a loved one you know is on this trip, leave them a note of encouragement as we continue on our journey.
Wow. We have been in Zambezi for nearly one week, yet it feels like it’s been a month away from home. Throughout this time, I have been continuously struck by the kindness and trust that has been offered to me by others.
I think of Wendy, a local tailor and friend of Jeff’s. A few days ago, she graciously welcomed me, Emily, Kalie, Mackenzie, and Jeff into her small store where she sells chitenge. Inside, beautifully patterned cloths laid over the edge of the countertop while premade shirts and dressed hung from a rope attached to the ceiling. I was drawn to this beautiful, bright yellow fabric adorned with blue flowers. It was gorgeous, but I was worried it would be too bright or not look good on my complexion. In that moment, I decided to place my trust in the hands of the other women in my presence. I asked them to choose between the bright yellow chitenge and another more subtle blue one. In an immediate consensus, they agreed that the yellow one was perfect. Then, as if the universe decided to reciprocate this trust, Wendy responded with a yes when I asked her if I could hold her baby, Melania (pronounced meh-lah-KNEE-ah). She carefully untied the chitenge that held Melania on her back and placed the three-month-old in my arms. I was ecstatic and surprised that Wendy would let me hold her baby despite us meeting about ten minutes prior. She had placed her trust in my arms.
Melania meeting her “auntie” for the first time.
I also think about my time at the Zambezi District Hospital. The Health Outreach team, comprised of myself, Tyler, Emily, Mackenzie and Kalie, has engaged in volunteering at the hospital’s MCH (Mother and Child Health) clinic. Here, alongside our fellow Zag Caroline, we support the nursing and community health staff to provide care to expecting mothers, new mothers, and their children. Yesterday was the day for mothers who had given birth within the last two weeks and their neonates (babies). When we first arrived, I again placed my trust in the hands of the nursing staff. I hoped that they would have the time and the patience to teach us about the services being provided. In a way, this did actually happen. Eucharia, our friend, nurse at the hospital, and one of the most empowering women I have met, explained and taught us some of the services. With the exception of Mackenzie, we have no significant clinical experience, but Eucharia placed her trust in our hands. This choice was not only impactful for us as students, but for the mothers as well. She taught me and Tyler how to administer oral polio vaccines to crying babies that were less than fourteen days old. When she placed the dropper in my hand, my nerves faded away as her trust allowed me to trust myself. Conversely, the mothers watched Eucharia trust us, which helped assuage any concerns they might have had about two college students learning how to protect children from polio. In this instance, the trust of the mothers and Eucharia was placed in our hands.
Me and Tyler completing health records for expecting mothers, under the guidance of nurse Annika.
Now, we have also had experiences of placing our trust in the hands of others. Kalie, with our wary trust in her hands, took it upon herself to create hand-drawn portraits of everyone in the group. While we were all nervous about her creative talents, it was wonderful to “see” ourselves in a place with no mirrors. Each day, we place our trust in the hands of our peers and the Mamas to cook our meals. We trust that they will shop and prepare nutritious meals that we can bond and laugh over each day. We place our trust in their hands. After buying our beautiful chitenge, we trust local tailors like Jessie, Mary, Brenda, a different Mary, and Ben’s sister (no one has managed to catch her actual name) to craft beautiful skirts, dresses, shirts, and bags. We trust the experiences of others and the skills of the tailors to make our fashion dreams come true.
Kalie’s family “portraits.”
The wonderful yet scary thing about trust is that it can be hard to extend to new people. We all know people who have betrayed or violated our trust in the past. It can be hard to move on. Yet, this trip and these wonderful people around me have helped me to realize the liberation in learning to let go. It can be stressful to not know where we are headed next or if I will like our next meal; but it is also incredible, freeing, and wonderous. I am excited each day for what the new day will hold. It is a blessing to be here, and I am grateful to our family, friends, neighbors, and others in our corner for placing your trust in our hands to create the meaningful, new relationships with Zags and Zambians alike.
With love and gratitude,
Jazmine Newson, Gonzaga class of ‘23
Wow. We have been in Zambezi for nearly one week, yet it feels like it’s been a month away from home. Throughout this time, I have been continuously struck by the kindness and trust that has been offered to me by others.
I think of Wendy, a local tailor and friend of Jeff’s. A few days ago, she graciously welcomed me, Emily, Kalie, Mackenzie, and Jeff into her small store where she sells chitenge. Inside, beautifully patterned cloths laid over the edge of the countertop while premade shirts and dressed hung from a rope attached to the ceiling. I was drawn to this beautiful, bright yellow fabric adorned with blue flowers. It was gorgeous, but I was worried it would be too bright or not look good on my complexion. In that moment, I decided to place my trust in the hands of the other women in my presence. I asked them to choose between the bright yellow chitenge and another more subtle blue one. In an immediate consensus, they agreed that the yellow one was perfect. Then, as if the universe decided to reciprocate this trust, Wendy responded with a yes when I asked her if I could hold her baby, Melania (pronounced meh-lah-KNEE-ah). She carefully untied the chitenge that held Melania on her back and placed the three-month-old in my arms. I was ecstatic and surprised that Wendy would let me hold her baby despite us meeting about ten minutes prior. She had placed her trust in my arms.
Melania meeting her “auntie” for the first time.
I also think about my time at the Zambezi District Hospital. The Health Outreach team, comprised of myself, Tyler, Emily, Mackenzie and Kalie, has engaged in volunteering at the hospital’s MCH (Mother and Child Health) clinic. Here, alongside our fellow Zag Caroline, we support the nursing and community health staff to provide care to expecting mothers, new mothers, and their children. Yesterday was the day for mothers who had given birth within the last two weeks and their neonates (babies). When we first arrived, I again placed my trust in the hands of the nursing staff. I hoped that they would have the time and the patience to teach us about the services being provided. In a way, this did actually happen. Eucharia, our friend, nurse at the hospital, and one of the most empowering women I have met, explained and taught us some of the services. With the exception of Mackenzie, we have no significant clinical experience, but Eucharia placed her trust in our hands. This choice was not only impactful for us as students, but for the mothers as well. She taught me and Tyler how to administer oral polio vaccines to crying babies that were less than fourteen days old. When she placed the dropper in my hand, my nerves faded away as her trust allowed me to trust myself. Conversely, the mothers watched Eucharia trust us, which helped assuage any concerns they might have had about two college students learning how to protect children from polio. In this instance, the trust of the mothers and Eucharia was placed in our hands.
Me and Tyler completing health records for expecting mothers, under the guidance of nurse Annika.
Now, we have also had experiences of placing our trust in the hands of others. Kalie, with our wary trust in her hands, took it upon herself to create hand-drawn portraits of everyone in the group. While we were all nervous about her creative talents, it was wonderful to “see” ourselves in a place with no mirrors. Each day, we place our trust in the hands of our peers and the Mamas to cook our meals. We trust that they will shop and prepare nutritious meals that we can bond and laugh over each day. We place our trust in their hands. After buying our beautiful chitenge, we trust local tailors like Jessie, Mary, Brenda, a different Mary, and Ben’s sister (no one has managed to catch her actual name) to craft beautiful skirts, dresses, shirts, and bags. We trust the experiences of others and the skills of the tailors to make our fashion dreams come true.
Kalie’s family “portraits.”
The wonderful yet scary thing about trust is that it can be hard to extend to new people. We all know people who have betrayed or violated our trust in the past. It can be hard to move on. Yet, this trip and these wonderful people around me have helped me to realize the liberation in learning to let go. It can be stressful to not know where we are headed next or if I will like our next meal; but it is also incredible, freeing, and wonderous. I am excited each day for what the new day will hold. It is a blessing to be here, and I am grateful to our family, friends, neighbors, and others in our corner for placing your trust in our hands to create the meaningful, new relationships with Zags and Zambians alike.
Every day it feels like the days get shorter, but the laughs get longer. Time here feels different. Part of it might be because I never realized there was a clock in the convent until it fell on Josh’s head last night during reflection (he’s okay), but I think it’s more than that. I think it’s even more than the fact that we are unplugged from our technology, disconnected from the world but becoming more deeply connected to each other and the community every day. Where I used to be so focused on the hour of the day or willing the 50 minutes of a class period to pass by quicker, now the day is broken up only in three parts: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Interactions aren’t planned, relationships form without notice, emotions arise suddenly. Sometimes, it can be hard to feel like we are forming genuine connection when it is so obvious that we are so foreign to this community.
Nevertheless, it happens in the ways we least expect. It happens when a man named Eddie who is taking our computer class stays afterwards to find us and gives us a poster to hang on our walls of a keyboard he meticulously drew out. It happens when we laugh with the Mamas about our new Chitenge suits and dresses that in Mama Katendi’s words make us look like “true Zambian girls” and it happened today visiting Micheal’s parents. Riding in the back of a truck with a chicken accompanying us as a gift, we made our way to Chingolala. We were greeted along the way, many smiles and waves making us feel welcome and seen. Once there, we were greeted by many members of Micheal’s family, and a group of kids which never stopped growing as more and more children became curious to see us and see what we were doing there. Despite relying heavily on our translator Terry (who speaks a total of 7 languages), we could feel the warmth and love radiating from the words of Michael’s mother and father as they welcomed us to their home. I was filled with even more respect towards Micheal and inspired by his family. I began to understand why he so frequently mentions how important family is to him.
The feelings and emotions surrounding every activity and interaction are complex and often contradicting, changing moment to moment, day by day. Each day is different than the previous and filled with multitudes of emotions, all varying in depth and their own challenges and baggage. Throughout this trip I’ve felt plagued by guilt. I’m guilty about the life I get to live, guilty about the assumptions I make about others, guilty about feeling happy, guilty about feeling sad, guilty about not being the best writer, guilty about not being the perfect friend, guilty about not washing my plate, guilty about feeling guilty. I can’t help but think, even when I’m deep in a belly laugh, that there is someone’s pain nearby—even within me sometimes. I feel a deep-rooted sense of turmoil. I’m constantly reminded of the tension between such strong emotions of joy and sorrow. These contradictions are constantly and rapidly flipping through my mind. This experience has given me time to think and to reflect, yet I never seem to be able to settle on any conclusions because in every moment, my thoughts, wants, and feelings are changing. I can be on top of the world here, but my eyes can sting from the tears I am holding back. I can be dried out and exhausted but filled with energy from a hug of a friend or the stimulation of a new conversation. Some days are so jam packed there is barely time to breathe, and others pass by giving us time to read, to meditate, and get to know each other even more deeply. Every meal feels like a celebration; a gathering to appreciate the meals in front of us, the lives we are given, the opportunities we have. We celebrate each other through the ups and the downs. Every meal, we are becoming a family, understanding each other and ourselves more deeply.
I think I speak for all of us when I say we could never say enough thanks to those reading from home who have supported us through this journey, or to those we’ve met in Zambia who are continuing to let us into their homes and lives.
I’m not sure how I am going to bring back the things I have learned from being in Zambezi to “real life” which right now feels fantastical and distant. I am not even sure I could put into words the “lessons” I have learned. But if it gives any consolation, I know in my heart that we are living fully, loving deeply, laughing until our stomachs are sore and a snort slips out of Eva’s nose. Above all, if at times I feel like I could be the only one struggling with these contradictions, I know that no one truly needs to be alone in this or any journey.
Chimene Mwane family, friends, alums, and other community members,
Our group is starting to settle into our routine here in Zambezi and our common spaces are coming alive with posters, affirmations, reflective pieces, and poems on the wall. And, of course, the joyful singing, dancing, and laughing that echoes from the kitchen from the rotating dish crew. This group of Zags has truly taken to heart what it means to form authentically deep relationships with ourselves and others – a reality for which I am immensely grateful.
When I began thinking about the topic of my blog, I felt unsure of where to start. How could I capture everything I have experienced? How could I honor the Zambezi community and do right by the people I have begun building relationships with? In unravelling these challenges, I realized that perhaps the best way to start is like any other event here in Zambezi, with a simple hello.
In his book In the Shelter, Pádraig Ó Tuama writes, “What is the name for the place where you now are? It requires close looking; it requires the dedication of observation and a commitment to truth. To name a place requires us to be in a place. It requires us to resist dreaming of where we should be and look around where we are. Hello to here. Hello to the name of here.”
Since the start of our time together back in January until now, and everything in between, I have said and received many hellos – some of which I am only beginning to unravel in their complexity. Each day, saying hello to here takes many new forms.
In Livingstone, I said hello to Victoria Falls, which is one of the most dramatic landscapes I have ever seen. Shortly after being soaked by the water, I said hello to the bungee jump of both thrill and fear that I took. As many Zambians and neighboring Zimbabweans told me, “Once you jump, it will feel like you have been born again.” As it turns out, they were correct. Somehow this 413-foot plumet reignited my spark for living a life of many leaps. Hello to being alive.
On Monday, the Computer Education Team and the ZamCity Team had the privilege of going to Zambezi Basic School. When we arrived, we were greeted by the deputy head teacher, Precious, who informed us that she would call an all-school assembly to welcome us and introduce us to the students. Five short minutes later, we walked out to approximately 1,700 smiling faces eager to learn our names. After introducing myself, I heard the students practicing: “autree…atree…tree.” Even though most of the students are unable to pronounce my name correctly, and even though there are occasional communicative barriers, the desire for these students to acknowledge us is abundant. Hello to the abundance.
I don’t think I have ever been in a place of such radical welcome. “Hello” extends far beyond a greeting here in Zambezi. It welcomes conversation, it invites curiosity, and it honors the humanity we each hold. I believe that people here are truly invested in meeting us, learning who we are, and building relationships with us. This is what accompaniment is all about.
These relational hellos have also called me to reflect on my chosen vocation. As many of you know, I have wanted to be a teacher for my entire life and am only one short year away from graduating. As I near this place, I frequently consider the ways I will build relationships with my students. In my teacher preparation courses at Gonzaga, we often talk about the necessity of forming relationships with our students. A key distinction I have observed here in Zambezi compared to my experience in the United States, is that relationships are not compartmentalized here. Teachers and students interact frequently and live lives that are deeply intertwined and interdependent on each other. In the United States, it’s easy to leave relationships at the door once the school day is over. I am sure we have all had the somewhat awkward experience of seeing a teacher or professor at the grocery store and wondering if we should say hello. While I say this somewhat jokingly, there is also truth to it. I have not, however, witnessed this same thing in Zambezi. Likya, the teacher Eva and I are working with at the school, has well over 40 students in each of her classes. Without fail, she knows each of their names and is a master of her craft in kindly commanding attention of her pupils. I know that this ability stems from deep and mutual trust exhibited outside the classroom. Similarly, community members greet each other as brothers and sisters day in, and day out. It is beautiful.
Amidst the joys, there are also hellos to surprise and uncertainty. The first day we were here, Tyler and I were exploring the market and searching for chili powder (which we sadly were unable to find). Four men kept waving and beckoning us over to where they were standing. Truthfully, the first couple times they called out to us, the alarm bells that I have been conditioned to attend to started ringing. I am a woman. What do they want? Are they unsafe? What are my surroundings? After more calls however, we walked over. The first words out of their mouth were “Hi! Welcome to Zambezi. We want to greet you.” This hello was pivotal for me. It reminded me that every person has dignity and worth and it is our responsibility as a collective to honor this humanness in each other. It is this profound acknowledgement of a person’s humanity that I experienced when Christine, the great-grandmother of one of my computer students told me and Sarah that we could call her grandmother. Hello to my growing family of Mamas, grandmothers, friends, and students.
Thank you to all of you who are thinking about and praying for us. As we continue building relationships with this beautiful community, I encourage us all, Zags and friends, to greet a new experience, conversation, fear, or hope. Name it, and when you are ready, say hello.
Looking at our reflections for the first time in four days #mirrorselfie
When I wake up in America, I roll out of bed at the last possible minute. I trudge over to the bathroom with my hair an absolute mess and peer into the mirror seeing the disaster that needs to be fixed before I can leave the privacy of my house. In Zambia, my routine Is almost the same, except there is no mirror when I need to look at myself within the convent. I came to Zambia in hopes of finding my passion again and reflecting on who I have been thus far, without the help of my American habits. Literally, I could walk out of the convent with no idea that I had a booger the size of Pluto coming out of my nose, but I trust my peers… I think. No, I do, my fast friends have shown me myself through their own gracious eyes and have reminded me off the person I wanted to become when I was little Kalie. While in the markets I see glimpses of myself in windows, small mirrors, and cool fridge doors that hold my coveted Coke. Yes, by God’s grace they have it here. Zambians have also shown me who I am in their laughter at my jokes, absolute compassion from the moment we stepped off the plane, and vulnerability in their stories. They have all made me look inward instead of outward about who I want to be, both while I’m here and when I leave.
So, who do I want to be? Hard question, right? I want to be like the Zambian women who come three times a week to help us clean our clothes, even as they help wash away our misinterpretations of the different world we have entered. They smile as I give them my clothes with the dirt and failures of my day all over them, and they wipe away my dirty slate and allow me to grow through trying again.
I want to be like Wendy, who sells beautifully colored chitenge in the market and makes us feel welcome in the village. Every piece she gets is unique and has gone through a journey that makes them what they are. Embodying their hardships and bumps along the way until they are sold to a pair of hands that appreciates and cherishes them for what they truly are, beautiful.
I want to be like Eucharia, who treats us like her own children after only meeting us two times. Being our Mama in the hospital and offering her services to us to make sure that our work can be as valuable as possible even though she has the world on her shoulders. Truly a power woman.
I want to be like the Zambians who bring their own computers so that others in their community can learn about how to use them. I want to be like Mama Katendi, who creates the most heartwarming food with her student assistants, giving us the positivity and energy we need to thrive in the day ahead. I want to be like Jessie, the tailor who can take my two-piece set dream and make it a reality with her sewing machine, seeing visions and listening with understanding. I want to be like Josephine who takes time out of her day to teach us her language and culture so that we can gain perspective and understanding. I want to be like my peers who will never shy away from an adventure and who take the time to look out for me, seven of which even popped their heads in while I was writing this. I want to be like the kids who cheer on our sunset whiffle ball game from “behind the wall,” supporting us and our competitive game without fail.
Finally, I want to celebrate like the family in town who welcomed a new baby into the world today. Welcoming random “chindeles” including Eva, Emily, and Mackenzie, from the market into their dance party and teaching us how to, “Move your hips more, like this!”. Too often I pass over the little wins as I look forward to reach the next, but by slowing down these Zambians created a community and joy that I have never seen before.
Celebrating the birth of a child; these joyous Zambians have some incredible dance moves.
I know that noticing these things is just the first step into making the leap from my life before Zambia to the life I want to live after this. Carrying this over won’t be easy or perfect, I am a human after all. However, I call out to all of you readers to please remember this when I return and challenge me to live out my goal when I forget where I came from. Reflecting in Zambia isn’t conventional or comfortable, which is what makes it such a liberating opportunity to find who I want to be.
Happy Birthday Father David Phiri! After a joyous and celebratory mass, we joined Fr. Phiri outside to congratulate him and admire his glorious baby powder shower, a Zambian birthday tradition!
Picture this beautiful scene. You have just woken up under the canopy of your mosquito net and jump out of bed, eager to put on your new chitenge, or patterned skirt, beautifully tailored by the talented Mama Mary in the market. It is Sunday and it is almost time for church. You have already heard the joyous music permeating the courtyard outside of the convent, and you are curious to see what worship will be like in Zambezi. You smell the delicious aroma of cinnamon French toast in the kitchen and go to sit in the grass to journal as breakfast is prepared, surrounded by a cacophony of chickens. It is the small moments and little observations that you make that mean the most to you.
We have only been in Zambezi for two short days. However, the moments we have shared with each other and those we have been fortunate enough to encounter have been beautiful. If you can remember from the very first blog post, in Lusaka we attended an art workshop at the National Museum. In this dialogue a prominent member of the Zambian art community, William, shared with us some advice as we embarked with intention towards Zambezi-let the community approach you. Our eagerness to meet Zambezi has been reciprocated in many acts of eagerness by Zambians to get to know us as well. The voluminous and overwhelmingly exuberant celebration of mass today reminded me again of the powerful welcome the community provided us on the tarmac with choreographed song and dance unique to Gonzaga and the presence of dozens of inquisitive, smiling children.
It is often easy to become focused on, and cling to, the grand gestures or large moments. Our lives are chaotic and busy back home with tasks and expectations demanding presence. Now, however, our intention is purely existing and being present in this place. So, while I have found awe and beauty in the expected joys such as the safari, Victoria Falls, or the feeling of our new home together, it’s the little things that I have come to appreciate the most. Zambezi is full of these little things. The smile on the little girl’s face that shows so much personality as she peers around the brick wall. The willingness of three young boys to help my scavenger hunt partner and me locate a grape soda in the market. The soundtrack of our convent as chorus singers at the church practice together in the early morning. The passion of the older man dancing to his heart in the front row of the mass service The EPIC dance of the altar boys as they move in unison to the resounding melodies. The phrase, “you are most welcome” reverberating throughout the market streets as we pass by clinging to the bed of our truck. It is in this element of noticing and receiving that I feel blessed.
While many community members are eager to attend our classes, asking about the logistics after church, or in the market, they too are facilitating the accompaniment on this journey. We have met some strong, inspiring, and dynamic leaders today. I wish that you all could experience the warmth, joy, and intention of Eucharia Saviye and Debbie Kasoma. Husband and wife, Eucharia is an experienced nurse in the district hospital and Debbie is an active teacher at the primary school, having started the ZamCity afterschool program to teach life skills through sports and community building. Their love for each other and the Zambezi community is nothing short of inspiring. When asked if they knew of any other computers available to facilitate our classes, they spared no hesitation in offering up their own for our lessons—such profound humility. Again, it is the little things.
The sense of community that is felt here is apparent and moving. The willingness of sellers to collaborate to provide change for a customer. The dancing movement of each and every church member as they worship to the joyous music of the choir. The camaraderie of the women as the process to honor the birthday king. This morning, Father Phiri animatedly called us to be open to one another, forgive each other, and be present for others. The support and reciprocity given to us by this community already calls us to continue to form and strengthen the relationships that are the foundation of our time here in Zambezi. It is clear that we have a purpose. We are home again tonight to turn a page and start another new, yet evolving chapter, fueled by passionate learning, a desire to walk alongside, with an intention to notice the little things.
Once again, the Zags are in Zambezi! And at long last, Zambezi is more than an abstract prediction or our final destination, but rather a new reality and home. Our group remains in shock and awe of the community we are beginning to accompany.
If today, our first full day in Zambezi, is emblematic of the rest of this trip, I may just stay. It started with a run to the airstrip, where we welcomed our straggling faculty members Abbey and Catherine. Eva then a led a full abs circuit in the courtyard as our adoring fans, the children of Zambezi, watched on. After a full breakfast I walked 100 yards down the road to play soccer in the sand and the sun with the best 12-year olds I have ever seen. After my team casually lost 8-0, I searched for Jazmine unsuccessfully in the markets, so that we could buy needed but elusive tomato paste. We met and organized our search at lunch, but before I left, Mama Katendi handed me a knife, a bowl, and pointed to three chickens. As instructed, I quickly cut the heads off our dinner. Jazmine and I finally found our desired tomato paste in the ninth store we visited. After a long day, homework continued with reading about the principles of accompaniment and the drawing of a personal map of Zambezi. I can only hope to offer something in return to the glorious welcome we have received from this wonderful corner of the world.
We may have only seen the tip of the African iceberg called Zambezi, but we have already begun reflecting upon our early experiences here and the continued realization that we are on display: our culture, our skin. The children flock towards us in hopes of studying and feeling our strange hair, the skin of our hands, and even our ability to have fun. Only one thing is for certain; we cannot match them on the football field. Adults watch us and greet us or call out “Chindele!” or “white person.” Some occasionally inquire about the upcoming classes we’ll be teaching or eagerly beckon us into their shops. At all times I feel the need to represent where I come from but also try to adapt to this very new place. The overwhelming overstimulation of constant attention drags my consciousness in new directions, searching to find a solid base to work from.
Life within the compound and the lessons we learn from classmates and professors are hopefully beginning to build the base we need to thrive in Zambezi. We must begin to adapt to this small home to make it our own. We now rotate through needed duties like cooking and writing this blog, among other things. Our first reflection in Zambezi asked us what our hopes, fears, needs, and intent were for the next few weeks. While the answers differed, I could empathize with answers of each one of my classmates. There is so much we do not know or understand. Yet, we carry on and while each day brings new adventure with new people, we face adversity as a group and I am confident we are capable of accompanying this Zambezi community towards a hopeful future.
As we orient ourselves to this new reality, I am forced to ask myself what my purpose really is here. What gives me the right to teach something here in the first place? Our groups are meant to provide something needed in the community, but I ponder what I can teach people that I know so little about. I do not feel as if I have the answers to my questions, and many times even what questions to ask. There is still time to navigate and potentially answer these questions in our new home, but who knows where they will come from?
My first full day in Zambezi was wonderful, but I know we are here to accomplish something more than that. I hope to find it. I know we are here to accompany a community in hopes of learning and maybe teaching something new, but I and maybe others, must continue to search for our place in that process.
Our “vacation” in Lusaka and Livingstone is officially over as we begin to experience something we were always committed to but never fully believed would arrive. The nervous tension, ever growing as we neared Zambezi, shattered the moment we landed at the airfield and is now replaced by the vibrant vibration of Zambezi and our excitement to begin our work here. The grounding forces of the experiences and people that led us to this special place will hopefully lead us to new ones as we learn and adapt to Zambezi.
