Gonzaga-in-Zambezi

On my final night in Zambezi, I walked outside the convent underneath the night sky. Part of this expedition was practical, as I wanted to make sure I didn’t have any lingering socks on the laundry line. I also wanted to make sure that I could look at the Zambezi stars for one last time. 

As I gazed upwards, I quickly spotted the Southern Cross, the singular constellation that I can spot in the southern hemisphere. I remembered seeing it for the first time on the bus ride from Lusaka to Livingstone, later while sitting on top of a land cruiser in Dipalata, and finally nights journaling on the porch in Zambezi. There is something unsettling about looking up at the night sky and realizing that the stars you’ve grown accustomed to are not the stars waiting for you at home.

Over the past month, I have unconsciously learned to orient myself by the Southern Cross. Night after night, it has been there above us in Zambezi, a quiet constant while everything else has been changing. New cities, new conversations, new challenges, new friendships. In a trip defined by movement, the stars remained faithful.

Tomorrow, we will board a plane and begin the journey back to the United States, where the Southern Cross will disappear below the horizon and the Big Dipper will once again reclaim its familiar place overhead. It feels like an appropriate metaphor for this entire experience.

One of the most difficult truths about studying abroad is that some goodbyes are exactly what they appear to be, endings. We say things like “keep in touch” and “see you again someday,” and I hope many of those promises come true. But there are also places we will never revisit in quite the same way, moments that exist only because of the people who happened to occupy them together, and versions of ourselves that belong only to that specific stretch of time.

There is a quiet grief in recognizing that sometimes hellos never come again after the goodbye. For someone who prefers certainty and neat conclusions, that realization has been uncomfortable. My instinct is to preserve everything, to take enough photos, write enough journal entries, and hold enough conversations so that nothing can truly be lost. But Zambia has repeatedly taught me that life is not something to be collected. It is something to be lived, shared, and eventually released.

The stars understand this better than we do.

The Southern Cross does not cease to exist when I return home. I simply move towards a new horizon. Likewise, the people who have shaped this journey, the communities that welcomed us so generously, and the lessons I have learned here will not disappear simply because I board an airplane. They will continue to exist, even if I cannot always see them.

And perhaps the same is true for the Big Dipper.

It has been there this entire time, hanging over my family and friends while I have stood beneath a different set of stars. Soon I will find it again, but I suspect I will not be the same person who last looked up at it.

There is another goodbye awaiting us that people rarely talk about: saying goodbye to the version of yourself that left home. Everyone warns you about culture shock when you arrive somewhere unfamiliar. Fewer people prepare you for returning to places that are familiar but feeling unexpectedly unfamiliar yourself. I know my room will look the same. On Wednesday, I will go to play tennis on the same courts that I played on for all of high school. Friends will ask, “How was Africa?”, and I will attempt to encapsulate my Zambezi experience in a story that can fit into a few minutes of conversation.

But how do you explain a month that rearranged the way you think about vulnerability, community, power, and yourself? How do you summarize conversations that changed you more than tourist attractions ever could? How do you explain that the greatest souvenirs from Zambezi are invisible?

I don’t know the answer yet.

What I do know is that readjustment will be its own journey. It will require resisting the temptation to treat this experience as a beautiful chapter that has already closed. Instead, the challenge is allowing what I have learned here to continue to shape the choices I make when life feels ordinary again.

The Southern Cross and the Big Dipper are separated by thousands of miles, but they belong to the same sky.

Perhaps that is the lesson I want to carry home.

The girl who nervously boarded a plane a month ago and the girl preparing to fly home tomorrow feel like very different people, but they are connected by every conversation, every risk taken, every friendship formed, and every uncomfortable moment that will slowly become growth. Nothing about me has vanished. I simply belong to a wider horizon now.

Tomorrow night, we will not be able to see the Southern Cross anymore.

But I think we will spend the rest of our lives navigating by it anyways.

Samantha (Sam) Cornfeld 
ZamFam ‘26

A final note from ZamFam ‘26:

To everybody who has read along with us, we have appreciated your love and support endlessly. Reading blog comments is the highlight of many of our mornings and it would not be the same without your comments that make us laugh and cry. With that being said, we have a couple of superlatives that we would like to award:

Blog Dad: Mark-Mark, Dad like guy of Emu:
Mark-Mark, you were iconic from the very beginning of the trip and now your comments are accompanied by cheers. We have all requested to see photos of you from Emi, and she rolls her eyes, but I think she secretly loves it.

Blog Mom: Sharon Coughlin:

Despite the firewall, you showed up day in and day out. We all loved the Oreo updates, hopefully we can see more pictures from Sean soon.

Blog Bestie: Claire Renee Sladovnik: 

Claire, I don’t think anybody made us laugh on the blog like you did, and getting your mom to also comment on the blog is absolutely hilarious. We all have a major friend crush on you.

Super seniors: Caroline and Caroline:

We could tell that you were living vicariously through us, hopefully we helped you to process your experience from last year, tehe.

We would like to thank you all for following along with us and thinking about us throughout our journey. The goodbyes here are hard, but made easier by the fact that we will soon say hello to all of you.

We are leaving Zambezi with peanut butter and chocolate in our stomachs, henna and friendship bracelets on our wrists, and above all, smiles on our faces.

Officially signing out,
ZamFam ‘26

P.S. to all future members of ZamFam ‘27 who are reading this and stressed out, we have a few words of advice. Drop all clothes from the packing list and pack a lot of food, and make sure you eat something before the bush planes. Get ready for the adventure of a lifetime! 😁

Notes to family:

Mom and Dad: it feels kinda of fitting that I was in charge of the goodbye blog for the ZamFam. I’ve had lots of practice with goodbyes and yet I still don’t feel like I’ve quite mastered them. With that being said, you guys made every house we lived in a home, and for that I will forever be grateful. On a different note, a few days ago we played soccer/football against a U15 team in Zambezi. You will be shocked to learn that my 3 months of training in Bann came in quite handy and in Meg’s words I was “surprisingly decent” (high praise). Love you so much, see you (and a jersey mikes sandwich?) soon! 

Kate and Megan: there have been cats every step of the way here that I pet and let sit in my lap, even though Jeff does not love that. It reminds me of being home with you guys and Wolfie. I’m sure he’s not visiting because his favorite Cornfeld is not at home, don’t worry that will change soon. Cornfeld Family tennis match this weekend? Wow it feels crazy to say that!

Anders: I hope you have been enjoying your break from me, don’t worry I’ll be able to ragebait you in just a few days. Maybe practice some deep breaths in the meantime.

I knew I would likely be bored on the plane, so I decided to pack a narwhal Woobles kit. For those of you not aware, a Woobles kit teaches you how to crochet through the magical construction of a cute little animal. This was one my sister Teresa gifted me for Christmas (shout-out!), but I have never done any crocheting or knitting before. In other words, I was very excited to get hooked. Beginning our 14 hour flight from Dulles to Addis Ababa, I decided to make my start. I messed up a ton. Switching up stitches, crocheting too tight (which I found out I do often), and having to redo a layer, just to name a few. Layer by layer, the narwhal began taking its blue and spherical shape. Once I got past the tedium of understanding the stitch hand movements, I entered into a rhythm which drew me to be calm and patient (even more so than I usually am). I found out I actually really liked crocheting. This project carried on through our stay at Natwange, while talking to Jacob—a Peace Corps volunteer taking an unsanctioned break at this hideout—and me coping with how to fill my time without internet access. When I completed (the bestest) narwhal on our ride to Livingstone, I was ecstatic, but also, on the inside, a little let down that I had completed this fun side activity so soon.

A couple days passed in Livingstone, when–freshly post-bungee–I found myself sitting beside Jeff, overlooking Batoka Bridge as brave ZamFam continued their jumps. He was working on his socks, when I mentioned that if he ever wanted to teach me a thing or two about knitting, I’d be more than happy. Without hesitation, he was up to the task and asked what I’d want my starting project to be. Eventually I landed on a beanie, and he replied with something along the lines of: “let’s do it.” Once in the convent, I was presented with a spread of yarn colors, and of course, I chose purple. With the help of some professional-grade YouTube videos, Jeff taught me how to do a cast on, along with the basic purl and knit stitches. I started knitting my pattern of 2 knit then 2 purl for a round, then was informed that I’d have to continue that exact structure until reaching a tube of around 9-10 inches. Jeff was worried that I would be annoyed by this news, but I was ready to continue the calming rhythm that my narwhal had brought me. (I named him Teddy btw, after Mama Katendi’s 2nd son, and because it seems like a bit of a misnomer.)

I knit in our convent common room, listening to hilarious debates (ie. whether one should wear underwear to bed: “let her breathe!”), kind words, and simple silences. I knit while answering questions or observing the room in computer class, quietly soothing my nerves. I knit under my mosquito net, feeling safe and sound. I even knit throughout our bumpy ass car ride to and from Dipalata. It’s very satisfying to be working on something with my hands, while at the same time not taking my attention away from the task at hand or the thoughtful conversation. It gives me pause, patience, and a moment to breathe. In these lulls, I tend not to overthink as much and can then be more truly myself.

Living in community asks you to make sure you’re always contributing. If you are available, it’s best to lend your hand. And sitting in presence with one another is usually the most fruitful way to spend your time. Always putting energy out there like that, though, can be draining. I’ve had nights where I immediately pass out from pure exhaustion. I can also be hard on myself for not being as present as I could be because of that exhaustion. Knitting is my way to take time for myself while in this busy community. It has helped me understand that doing something just for me is okay. I can wash the dishes and pump the water when it’s that time, but I can simply just be with myself as I am with others too. As a pretty chronic people pleaser, whether as a child or a student or a friend or a stranger, I tend to take actions to prioritize others’ feelings rather than my own. But each loop pulled through the yarn grounds me more and more and ties me to something calming, reminding me that I matter too.

MP brought up in her blog a guest she invited for dinner named Gift. I don’t think there are possibly enough positive things to mention about his presence. (His similarity to Yam Yam was quite remarkable for my Survivor fans out there: his laugh, demeanor, and overall character.) He shared about his life story, being placed under the care of those who did not take care of him until he ran away. Someone asked him how he’s always so bright and bubbly and a light for others despite everything he’s encountered. He explained that he hid his upbringing for many years, which ended up eating him up inside. Sharing that with someone was the first step in accepting and loving his whole self. He stated that it’s impossible to love others (like the way he does) until you love yourself. I found knitting to be a small way to ensure that self-love on this trip. Others discovered their own. Many learned friendship bracelet patterns, everyone journaled, Hannah water-coloured, and Joe temporarily found a cello.

We can do lots of great things for and with a community, but without taking care of yourself, you’ll reach a limit and show that you’re not willing to take what you’re offering to others for yourself. I have been continuously inspired by ZamFam 26 and the humans in Zambezi each day who illustrate this self care and self confidence. I have witnessed the power of dance in letting loose some much needed energy, and walking in conversation or silence bringing much peace. My journey of self-love and confidence within community still has oodles to grow, and I’ll continue my mistakes each day. But with my newfound crochet hooks and knitting needles to loop them back up, I’m sure I’ll be quite okay. (Dear parents, please prepare a pair of 5 mm knitting needles for when I get back home if possible, thanks!) Through hard days and problems with no clear answer, I know I can use this greater confidence and love to love others and, together, knit a network of love and care. Let’s all work together to knit love.

Much Love,
Noah Barron

Class of 29
ZamFam 26

Other Notes:

Half of our crew has flown back to Lusaka, while I’m in the convent with 8 other zags. This place truly isn’t the same without all the decor, but most importantly without the whole group. (aka. the knitting has come in handy today.) It’s going to be a really strange feeling to leave this place and to leave Zambia, but I’m excited (and sad) to meet back up for our last moments together as ZamFam 26.

To my friends and family– I can’t wait to see you all again at SeaTac, Lynnwood, Spokane, and beyond. Just know it’s going to be really hard to express how complex and layered this experience has been, so be patient and understand that not one conversation (nor a hundred) will contain it all. Catch ya on the flip side!

The night before we headed to Zambezi was the last time I wrote the blog. At that time I wasn’t feeling ready to come. Now it is the night before we leave Zambezi and I’m not ready to go. 

I remember getting off the bush plane and listening to the Chilenga choir welcoming us, wondering what I got myself into. I fought back tears as it hit me that I am going to be here for over three weeks. All the firsts were full of stress and missing home. The first time at the convent, going to the market, and teaching English classes and 68 sixth graders. 

Now, I’m wishing to experience it all again. Thinking back on my time, I’m wrestling with the fact that tomorrow morning I will get on the plane and leave the place that has become home and the people that became family over the last three and a half weeks. With that comes saying goodbye to all the people I’ve met, places I’ve gone, and things I will never get to do again. After tomorrow morning, there will be no more daily market trips, walks to the river, afternoon English classes, or meals with the ZamFam and mamas. 

On one market run I was talking to Joe about how sad I am that we have to leave this place and the lifestyle here. I talked about how I will miss being able to sit down and talk to any random person, ask about peoples’ families and lives from the get-go, and all the things that make Zambezi special. He told me “be the change you want to see.” That got me thinking about the ways that I can bring Zambezi home.

No matter how faithful we have been on the blog, no one will truly know what ZamFam 26 went through besides us. There have been countless laughs, tears, and everything in between. Despite that, we can bring parts of this special place to you through our stories, memories, and actions. 

I will never get to do life like I have here, but in little ways I can live it at home through my actions. I want to take the time to get to know the people I cross paths with like I have with the vendors in the market. I want to accompany people while we do life together like I did with Mama Katendi and Mama Christine as we made meals. I want to be interruptible like Mary and Wendy in the market when they left their work to help us with a scavenger hunt from Jeff. 

Zambezi will come home through my memories. I’ll think of my English class when I hear slang, car rides to Chilenga when I hear Electric Love, and walks to the market when I eat a chocolate bar. I’m sure there are memories and lessons that we won’t realize will impact us until we are home.

This trip has been full of every emotion and feeling. We have loved and hated Zambia. We have wrestled with the complexities of this trip. Even leaving comes with complex emotions, excitement to see our loved ones and sadness to leave here. 

Today I said bye to my community English class, the people at Chilenga, took my last market trip, and had the last meal all together in the convent. The girl who wrote the blog three weeks ago was already longing for this day. Now as I sit in the convent’s main room writing this, surrounded by my ZamFam, I think this day came too soon. I can’t believe I will likely never experience Zambezi as a whole again, but each one of us will bring a piece of Zambezi home. 

Isa Arredondo
ZamFam 2026

To my family: I love you all and I’m excited to catch up with you when I’m home. See you soon!

Antonio: Happy birthday! I’m sad I’m missing it but excited to celebrate you when I’m home. 

Joe: I love you so much and I’m excited to see you! I can’t wait to catch up with you. Please don’t forget to pick me up. 

TILA: Rose is the relationships with Zambians and Zags I have made. Thorn is saying goodbye to Zambezi. Bud is seeing my family and friends at home. 

To Kiki from Lauryn: CONGRATS on your graduation! I can’t wait to celebrate you when I get home. Love you so much!

To Samie from Katie D: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAMIE! You are officially Unc now! I hope that you have the best birthday ever! I love you so much and can’t wait to catch up!

When we got off the plane in Zambezi, I would have told you I knew what accompaniment was. What I didn’t know is the next three-ish weeks would prove me wrong. Not only did I not understand the practice of accompanying others, I did not know how to allow myself to be accompanied.

My first lesson in accompaniment came in the form of family style. On the first evening in Zambezi, after a brief deliberation and vote, passing dishes to the left was the verdict. Family style eating requires a unique form of accompaniment that has become one of my favorite parts of our routine in Zambezi. Squished around seven differently sized tables there are anywhere between 21 and probably 26 chairs that have accommodated the Zags, Mamas, and various dinner guests throughout our time in Zambezi. A pole wrapped in scarves and balloons jets out of the center. Now I can’t tell you if we eat family style because it’s easier or because it teaches connection, other-centeredness, and (of course) accompaniment. It’s a good thing I don’t have to figure that out because both are true.

Family style is representative of the collective accompaniment which I have found in Zambezi. Students in Business and Leadership class call one another out but more importantly call each other in with care I have seen attempted in few other places. The Market provides space for a dance-like conversation in which, although passing (sometimes to the left), meaningful connections are forged. I have found that Zambians live life Family Style and now so do we.

Passing to the left has not been strictly followed by the ZamFam, especially when someone needs the peanut butter (cough Sarah) or the salt (cough, cough Morgan). There is a strange flow state that we have reached during our weeks of shared meals. Bowls are passed, conversations flow, and people dig in at the same time. There is always a seat for everyone no matter if there is no fruit left when it gets to you. Family style forces you to think of others when serving and passing. It reminds me day in and day out that there is a unique beauty in each individual having a place at the table. We can’t eat if anyone is missing (as Emi and Jeff would lovingly/sarcastically tell you). Accompanying at the table is understanding that each individual is part of the whole. Each meal reminds me that there is no need to earn a place. I can show up as I am.

A second lesson in accompaniment came in the days leading up to our trip to Dipilata. I was struggling with teaching a subject I know little about, feeling harmful to a community that I had come to care deeply about, and feeling exceptionally out of place. I was trying to earn a spot at the table even though I knew deep down would always have a place for me. Instead of leaning in, asking for help, and letting myself be accompanied in my struggles, I climbed a wall. I mean that literally: I climbed the brick wall surrounding the convent and sat atop it while observing the comings and goings around me. The barrier to the convent allowed me to distance myself physically and literally from the people inside and those outside. I sat there and tried to figure myself out, eventually climbing off the physical wall. I had forgotten the delicate balance of humanize, accompany, and complicate. I spent too much time complicating and forgot to humanize. Climbing off that wall, I felt unworthy of the care I that was so freely given here. I thought I was doing Zambia wrong, whatever that means. This moment taught me that I needed to work on being accompanied. I did not know what it meant to fully surrender to people who would willingly walk alongside me without asking for anything in return.

 Lucky for me, whether I liked it or not, I was not walking this road alone. The ZamFam showed up and wouldn’t let me run away. Without a conscious effort, single word, or specific action they grabbed my hands and pulled me towards the collective again and again. I am learning to be accompanied through Hayden and Sam showing me that our job is not to demonstrate our business expertise (cause we don’t have any lol); instead it’s fostering a space for a communion table of shared experience, inspiration, and conversation. I am learning to be accompanied by making apple crisp with Hannah. I am learning to be accompanied when Jeff forces me to be truthful when he asks how I am doing. I am learning to be accompanied by getting off my wall, passing through my messiness and shortcomings to understand that accompaniment, like leadership, is never done alone.

Lessons of accompaniment have been scattered throughout every day in Zambezi. There are some that I noticed and surely many that I have missed. One final moment in which I was taught a lesson in accompaniment occurred when walking a dinner guest out of the convent after a meaningful conversation over a shared meal. Gift, a Zambian, current convent arm wrestling champion, a walking testament of the power of forgiveness and hope shared his story with us. As Jeff and I walked him to the edge of the convent property Jeff explained the Lunda word kushinjikizha, to accompany part of the way. He explained this word to mean caring about the person next to you enough to walk with them part of their journey but trusting them enough to finish the journey themself.

I haven’t stopped thinking about this kushinjikizha since. How beautiful is it to walk for a period of time alongside someone knowing that you will watch them pass you and continue on alone? I believe that it demonstrates that something doesn’t have to last to have been meaningful. Gonzaga-in-Zambezi is a walking example of kushinjikizha. As I have walked through Zambia I have been accompanied by our Business & Leadership students, kiddos outside the convent walls, the Zambians who I now call friends, and by each Zag. Knowing that I will finish this journey on my own, while also knowing that I have their trust makes the next steps I take easier. I won’t forget the path I have walked. I will use it to influence the path I choose in front of me. I am proud to have accompanied for a while and have full trust that the rest of the journey, however complicated and messy, will be beautiful.

With love and gratitude,

Mary Pearl Haney
ZamFam 25 and Class of 2028

(a girl who has not yet broken Zambia and who hasn’t let Zambia break her)

Family and Friends of the ZamFam: Thank you for being with us every step of the way. Know that each of your names have been sacredly mentioned somewhere in Zambezi. You were the keys to conversations about loved ones, family traditions, and so many stories shared. None of us did this trip alone because each and every one of you was with us every step of the way. Thank you for missing your person so that we could know them and they could know Zambia. What a gift.

Murph: The Zambezi market is pretty much as far as we could get from wandering Zupans with orange juice together. Yet, I still can’t help but long to be walking the aisles with you, talking about nothing and everything. I ate a lemon cookie today and what I would give for you to be sitting next to me, telling me that we should definitely have a second one. This whole not seeing each other for 6 months thing is not so much fun… can we not do it again please? I am so proud of you as you start at KPMG. I know you are throwing together some killer business casual outfits (featuring the Stan Pants). Thank you for holding it down in the comments, your insights and updates mean the world. Love you and SEE YOU SO SOON!

Ween: I cry most times we read the blog comments and each time, when I start to feel bad, I know it is ok. You cried too. I will let them flow. So proud of you for tackling your new job with so much enthusiasm, the ZamFam (and me especially) has been rooting for you!

Slav: Thank you for practicing accompaniment halfway around the world. Not going to lie, your comments are a fan favorite over here. I am so proud that you didn’t kill Allison’s dog!!! I miss our 10am chats while you figure out the grind time on your espresso machine. I can’t wait for Facetimes while you make coffee and hearing about all of your bike adventures. 18 by Khalid played yesterday and it made me miss you and Hollender. Play some pickleball with Ken for me!

Grammy & Papa: I love and miss you both. I will have LOTS of photos to show you when I get back. I am so grateful to know that there are always hugs waiting for me in Bellevue. It means the world.

Haney Trucking Co: I look up at the night sky and think of you. I hope to one day admire the southern cross again standing next to the three of you. I can’t wait for farmers market Sundays, salmon dinners outside, and going on walks with you (shocking I know). You are the first people I think of when I hear a church choir practicing as I sit on the convent porch. You are the first people I want to tell when my class went really well or really bad. You three are the hugs I miss most before I go to bed. Thank you for the love sent via notes in my suitcase and comments on the blog. Sending a hug back and a real one will follow in the days to come. Dad: JURY DUTY! WHAT! Mom: you would love mass here, I think of you sitting in the pew next to me each time and it makes me smile. Ellen: I have been admiring the Zambian trees on your behalf. Happy happy early birthday, I can’t wait to celebrate you. I love you three bigger than the bathtub.

Mirrors are a rare thing for us to find here. In the convent, with four bathrooms, there are no mirrors. The majority of schools and other public places we have visited in Zambia, also, do not have mirrors. 

Every time we pass a specific set of glass doors (the entry to a neighboring shop), we are all briefly caught off guard, stop, and comment, “Woah! I have not seen myself in a while.” When we visited the Heikoops’ home in Dipalata this past weekend, I used the bathroom and noted the pink toilet and the available toilet paper. I walked back out onto their screened porch and someone asked if I had seen the mirror. I was like, “What? There’s a mirror?!” I went to the second bathroom later in the visit and sure enough there was a mirror. I laughed out loud. 

Mirrors have played a complicated role in my life. I think of two mirrors specifically. First, the floor to ceiling mirrors in the studio where I danced from ages 3 to 18. Dancing six days a week, constantly surrounded by mirrors, created ample opportunities for comparison. But, these mirrors have also been where I have found my joy for dance and music, embodied a character, made deep friendships, stepped out of my comfort zone, and seen my own students find the same joy for dance as I feel. Second, my bathroom mirror at home. In high school I struggled with acne. In their all-seeing way, mirrors revealed to me the imperfections of my forehead, nose, and chin. Yet, this same mirror, with the help of a purple hand mirror, allowed me to see the back of the double-dutch braids my younger sister, Kiki, had carefully crafted into my hair after much pleading. (I still rely on her for this.)

Mirrors are raw, honest, and transparent. They show us the parts of ourselves we want to see, the parts we don’t want to see, and parts we can’t see. Mirrors make us ask questions and are complex. They also don’t have to be literal pieces of glass. I have found many other mirrors throughout the past three and a half weeks, in the places visited and the people I have met. 

In Livingstone, while overlooking the Zambezi River, watching a “traditional” dance performance, and sipping on a glass of champagne at the Royal Livingstone Resort, I realized I was staring myself down in a revealing way. The power and privilege that comes with being an American allowed me this specific experience that was very culturally contained. How close am I going to become at actually experiencing the true Zambia? Or will I just be a tourist? 

In meeting my homestay host, I quickly realized the importance of friendship in her life. Lilian and Tayela have been friends since before they each moved to Zambezi. Their shared laughs, love of a good time, and easy understanding parallel of close friendships in my life. 

In teaching at Chilenga Primary School, I am again reminded that I am a white American. The students on the first day of class were purposely smudging their faces on the chalkboard and rubbing the eraser onto their cheeks to smear the white powder over their skin with. This follows the actions of the constant request to touch my hair. 

In exploring the Zambezi Market, I see my representation of wealth in full effect. Multiple instances kids have come up to me with hands outstretched asking if I can buy them some cookies or a bracelet. 

In visiting missionary families at both Chitokoloki and Dipalata I was faced with  new questions. Am I more like the missionaries or the local Zambians? The missionaries, with their more American style home and amenities of reliable running water, electricity, and food from familiar brands, like a fav of mine, Costco, stands out as obvious similarities. Their qualities of care and love for others, hospitality and generosity, and rheir dedication and hard work are all values I agree with. Yet, in conversation and principle there were some things that did not sit well with me – traditional gender roles and their seeming preference for isolation over true integration with the community, as examples.

In our own Zag community I notice reflections of ourselves in each other. The humor in our pranks and funny faces. The dedication for our own growth and that of our students. Our go with the flow attitude and adventurous spirit when the unexpected arises. The love we have displayed by the caring hand or hug when we need it most.

For my assigned chore this past weekend, “Random Acts,” I decided to explore the supply closet of the convent. I found paper bags, pipe cleaners, pony beads, construction paper, markers, glue, and to my delight, glitter! When all was said and done, I had created a beautiful, imperfect, complex mirror. The hope is that this Zig of Zags, and you, can see a part of yourself in this mirror. 

All the best, 
Lauryn Anderson 

ZagFam 26
Class of 2028 

Friends and Family Messages Time! 

Jenny – Hannah, Lily, and I made gluten-free pancakes for breakfast the other day and it reminded me of the buttermilk heart-shaped pancakes you make on your favorite holiday, Valentine’s Day. ❤️

Joey – A group of us went to see the sunrise yesterday morning at the river. We got there at 5:40, not realizing sunrise wasn’t till 6:30ish. Oops. It gave us time to admire the southern hemisphere stars and the universal moon. Guess we are both making mistakes about the sky. 

Kiksters – I love hearing all about the updates for your last week of high school! I hope you soaked up all the memories while playing at Stillwater and feel the support of the community while celebrating at the parade. I am beyond proud of you. 

To my friends and family – I miss you and love you all to the moon and back!

I sit on the wooden benches looking at our laundry hanging on the line. In a sliver of shade, I feel a warm beam of sun on my face. The dust blows through the air, wafting both the smell of the trash pit and our dinner toward me. I savor the taste of a banana I just had for a snack. I take a deep breath. My brain pauses for a minute, and my heart takes over. My inner monologue disappears. I am confused. I am at rest. I am conflicted. I am calm. I am uncomfortable, yet I am at home. I am on the front porch of the convent, easily one of my favorite places in the world.

I do not like the front porch for being anything extraordinary. I like the front porch because it holds no expectations. I am there simply to be. Sometimes when I am on the front porch, I am laughing so hard I cannot breathe, and sometimes I am stifling silent tears that I have no way to explain. Sometimes I am looking for someone to talk to, and sometimes I need a minute alone. Regardless of how my day has gone, the front porch is always there to greet me, to sit with me, to laugh with me, to hold me.

Unlike a porch, it is impossible for humans to enter any situation completely withholding expectations. While we may try to assume best intent or show up with curiosity, our natural state is to try and make sense of what is around us. In this, our experiences either confirm or challenge what we believe to be true about the world.

In many ways, I am lucky to have peeked into the lives of Zambians and complicated my worldview both this year and last. However, this privilege does not come clearly. It does not reveal itself all at once, and when it comes, it is foggy at best.

The first time I returned to the States after Zambia, I defaulted to glorifying my experience. After all, I was welcomed by people who openly loved me and sacrificed their comfort for mine. This place taught me what it means to fail over and over again, and to find joy in the smallest success. My time in Zambia had shown me what it means to orient myself to the present and to look at the minute details that shape a moment.

Now that I have returned to Zambezi, I have begun to reshape my idyllic memories of the place that holds such a special spot in my heart. I still see the people and places that sparked belonging during my first trip, but I also notice that Zambezi is far from a perfect town.

I sit in a privileged vantage point both at home and in Zambezi. In neither space am I worried about my immediate needs, but what is hidden by different neighborhoods and reliable plumbing and electricity in Spokane is openly visible when traveling around Zambia. As I sit positioned to meet my immediate needs, I am sitting alongside those who may not be. While I call them my neighbors in Zambia, I do not always see them when I am at home.

A large value of the Gonzaga in Zambezi program is accompaniment. With this framework of coming alongside one another in mind, our experience is situated to include all the people we encounter. People who are positioned to meet their needs, and those who are not. Where invisible lines may be drawn at home, in Zambezi I am not trained to see the divides within the community. Here, we are attuned to learn from everyone we encounter. This becomes confusing when I face my privilege and operate seeing different sides of the vast inequality in the world. I am deeply uncomfortable with the idea that I simply got lucky to be born into the family and place that I was. However, I am positioned to not simply ignore these differences, but to challenge the guidelines society paints for how I should act within this imbalance. It would be comfortable to only know what I have been told, yet I would never learn about the human that sits behind each set of eyes.   

As Father Gregory Boyle says in “The Voice of Those who Sing,” “The measure of our compassion lies not in service of those on the margins, but in our willingness to see ourselves in kinship with them.” The goal is not to enact our influence on those we encounter, but to surround ourselves with people who expand and challenge our understanding of the world.  

It is a blessing to return to a place that I thought I would never see again, but it is also difficult to be reminded of the challenges experienced by the people I came to know. The orientation of curiosity boasted by this program allows me to enter into conversation with those who I may not have come to see in the States. It is this positioning that contributes to the depth of connections formed in Zambia.

This weekend in Dipilata, I was standing outside after church when I saw a woman that I had recognized from the year before. We caught up on each other’s lives, and I was reminded of the unique position I hold. As we were talking, we discussed both our dreams and the mundane of our lives. I stood conflicted as I spoke of my time during my last semester of college golf while she talked about balancing childcare and finishing her last year of secondary school. As I was beckoned to eat the lunch that was prepared for hours by women in the community hosting us, it was hard not to feel guilty for the privilege and honor that I neither earn nor deserve but consistently experience. In our goodbye, she assured me that she will prepare something for me next year, whether I come back or not, she will “properly” show up for me and celebrate our collective presence.

Perhaps what this trip has reinforced for me the most is how important it is to show up. It is easy to see why it is important to show up in the difficult moments in life. Nobody wants to feel like they are walking through something alone. However, what I think much of my generation has gotten wrong is that we have neglected the importance of sacrificing our desires to celebrate our community. In the wake of caring for ourselves and “doing what you need,” we have lost what it means to celebrate with another. We have forgotten that it is a gift to see joy in one another.

Travelling in a group of young adults to a collectivist community has reminded me that sacrifice and celebration for the other is deeply important to our human experience. In moments of celebration, the extraordinary and the mundane, I have been reminded of how belonging can spark when it is expected and it can spark after feeling deeply exhausted and disconnected. To celebrate is to stand with another.

A few moments from this trip have reminded me of belonging and celebration:

• Running my half marathon in Lusaka. After telling them the plan at 10:30pm the previous night, Hayden, Liv, and Emi woke up at 5am in the morning to see me start the race. While I was running, Pride, another runner that I met during the race, made it his personal goal that I set a PR. He ran with me every kilometer after we met and motivated me the whole time.
• The days leading up to Noah’s birthday, the group planned decorations, dessert, and celebration activities. Late into the night before, it was a group effort to blow up balloons, make a birthday banner, and plan a secret reflection (game night) to celebrate Noah the next day.
• During church in Dipalata there were not one, but two dance parties that broke out during song. I may have lost the order of the program, but I found joy in the smile that couldn’t leave my face as we shared in celebration together.

• Many days I find myself sitting outside of Mustafa’s tailor shop. We each put aside our agenda for the day and connect through few words about our lives. Our collective presence has built a relationship predicated on showing up for each other.
• During our dinner program with the Gabis, Morgan stood at the speaker queuing songs and teaching dance moves to everyone. I pulled Mama Katendi from the benches, and we laughed as we kept turning the wrong direction during the cupid shuffle.

Before some of the hospital shifts, the health group has a dance party on the porch. It is in these moments where I realize that I belong. I do not belong because I have achieved a place in the group or in the community that I am a part of. I belong because I too am a human who is experiencing the same moment with those I am created to be with.

Andrew Garfield has a quote that says something along the lines of “you can fall in love with anyone as long as you listen to their story long enough.” However, as I approach our last days in Zambezi (and as an all-time hater of saying goodbye), I have slowly come to the realization that some people can be deeply important for a moment in my life, yet their presence is transient.

As I have been oriented to find kinship with those who I have encountered in Zambezi, I hope I can take this curiosity into my future endeavors. I hope that I become someone who is curious for the person behind the eyes I look at. I hope I can always see and celebrate the humanity in the one who sits next to me.

The porch is in a unique position. Sometimes people sit and stay. They get to know the nuance of the porch, its surroundings, the soul that exists inside this sacred place. However, there are many people that walk across the porch to travel in and out. Some people are significant, others are bystanders. Some notice, some do not. The porch doesn’t overthink those who do not stay, it understands that some people are simply there to pass by. I hope I can walk through this world as a testimony to the people who have oriented me to the present, to be indebted to one another, and to celebrate the joy that it is to live our life.

Cheers,

Taylor Mularski

GU class of 2026, ZamFam ’25, ‘26

Mom, I can tell you are trying to sound profound in all of your blog comments. I can imagine it takes you a long time to write them all out. Anyway, happy late birthday, I hope you ate lots of chocolate cake and remembered to take Lactaid if needed. Dad, can you please make tee times for the week I am home? Hopefully your shoulder is decent enough when I am back. As we both know, it’s the only time you have any remote chance against me. Also, despite turning off service, I am getting automated messages. Thank you for switching my dentist, but an appointment in the morning of the 17^th is sort of crazy work. To the rest of the family, I love you all, thank you for following along.

ZamFam ’25, I have been collecting some small details you might want to know. This group is slowly catching up to our peanut butter consumption rate. We even got the massive Dr. Nuts container. Kanchana is still here, but ZamFam ’26 has decided to call her Linus instead of her real name, I don’t know why. There are so many comments on the blog it is driving Jeff insane. It takes us TWO WHOLE MEALS to cover all the content each day. Becca, I have seen snakebite, the garden rake, the upside-down question mark, and of course, the giraffe many times. Rest assured the stars are still there. Caroline, I have had some diabolical running emergencies and I saw Moses and he was really persistent in asking about you. Also, Jeff and I are both very invested in this spotify-like situation, please share more. And let me know if you find any farms in Denmark! Caroline and Ellie, our room is being taken care of well, and my bedding is being thoroughly enjoyed. Health group, many of our students are back for year two of lessons. Zambia misses you all and is proud of you too.

My name is Katendi Sengevu and in August this year I will be 50 years old. I have 7 children, 5 boys and 2 girls. I live and work in Mufulira, Zambia, under the Ministry of Health as a maid. Ten years from now, I will be retiring.

I have a lot of friends who have worked in various ministries of government and have retired. A few of them have settled very well, but the majority are struggling in life due to lack of adequate preparation while they were still working, and others are struggling as a result of late payments of their retirement package from the government. In Zambia, when you retire you may not get your retirement package until 5 or 6 years later. This has led to some of my friends becoming stressed while others have gone into depression to an extent of loss of life because they just depended on their job and did not have any extra income while waiting for their retirement package.

I have learnt quite a lot from the mistakes these friends and many of my family members have made and what they went through while in employment, and I don’t want to take the same route.

Arising from that, I have decided to use my remaining ten years in employment to fully prepare myself for a better life after formal employment. Apart from working for the government of Zambia, I also do part-time business where I sell knitting projects.

In grade 5 at Chiwepala Primary School we used to have homecraft lessons where they taught us how to make sweaters, hats, and stockings using knitting needles. At the same time, we learned how to hand sew skirts and dresses using chitenge material. At home, my mom also used to hand sew hot pads and decorations to put in the house. When I would walk into the house I would see the decorations my mom had made and I would feel happy and at home. Sometimes, she would make some for selling so she could have extra income for the house. Instead of my dad providing everything for the home, my mom provided as well. I remember seeing my father smiling when my mom had bought something for the house using the money from selling her projects. This showed me that it is valuable not to just depend on one thing, but to have an extra source of income for my family. I am inspired by my mother to use my love for sewing and knitting to grow my own business.

At first, I handknit and sold hats, sweaters, and socks for babies. In 2009, once I had earned enough money from working for the Zags, I bought a small knitting machine. I use my knitting machine to make various garments like scarfs, gloves for babies, trousers for babies, school sweaters, and women’s tops. I supply mainly to selected customers like parents that have school-going children.

Now that I have a sewing machine, I hope to expand my business by making school uniforms, nurse uniforms, work suits for miners, and other projects.

My main interest in making school uniforms is that the government has made education free, so the government is building more schools and attracting more students. Because there are more students who need uniforms, I have a good market of customers to make school uniforms for and expand my business.

In North-Western province, they are also building more mines, but the work suits for the miners are not made in North-Western province. They are made in Lusaka. Right now, businessmen who sell the work suits to the mines travel very far to Lusaka to buy the work suits. So, my interest is to make work suits in Mufulira so the businessmen can travel less far to buy from me instead of going all the way to Lusaka.

However, I intend to do more than what I am currently doing, and I am planning to buy an industrial computerized embroidery machine that can enable me to customize products like work suits, overalls for the mines, and uniforms for nurses and students that I make with my new sewing machine. This will help me to attract more customers, since right now there is only one spot in Mufulira that can embroider products.

The resources that I will generate from this venture will go towards putting up a big shop for my works as well as to display my various products for easy access to my future customers.

Right now, I have experience sewing with my hands, but I do not have experience with my sewing machine. I will use my machine to make school uniforms, nurse uniforms, and work suits for the mines. I hope to get ideas for other types of projects that will help to expand my business and fulfill my dreams.

The love that I have for knitting and sewing comes from my heart. I have grown with this feeling because I watched my dad smiling at my mother when she contributed through her sewing. When I was a child, it wasn’t normal for a woman to contribute financially because they were expected to depend on their husband to provide everything, but for my dad to see my mother contribute something it made him proud that he married a women who not only took care of the house, but also provided financially.

I also learned that my children appreciate more when I make something apart from getting my salary for work. Right now, I go door-to-door to sell. When I use the profit I make from my business and come home with clothes for my children or pay for the fees for my children’s school they always say “Mom, you are the best. We are lucky to have you.”

I work hard to bring extra money to the house so I can meet their needs. In some families, both the husband and their wife work but cannot pay the fees for the school. However, my children always appreciate that I provide for school and the house even though I am a single mother. My children feel good and happy the same way I felt when I was a child and saw my dad smile at my mom.

I have learned from the example of my parents. I am trying to carry on the legacy of my mother’s hard work. I always feel good when I do something and I see the smiles on the faces of my children despite not having their father. I remember that the smile I see in my children when I provide for them is the same smile that I saw on my father’s face when my mother contributed something.

Tunasakilili mwani,

Katendi Sengevu

Fulfillment: a deep sense of happiness, meaning, and purpose. The feeling of having realized your potential or living a life that aligns closely with your values. 

Synonyms: Satisfaction, self-realization, accomplishment.

For the past 3 weeks I have come face to face with a slow pace of life. Everything in Zambezi moves at a different speed than I am used to at home. In Spokane, it is always about the next class, the next assignment, the next semester, or the next social event. In Zambezi, the days move on a consistent pace, with every moment catered the same way and every hour devoted to routine. During this trip I’ve realized that my life has rarely been about remaining present in one moment but rather anticipating what is next. Just last semester I was dreading the end of sophomore year, subsequently marking the halfway point in my college journey, rather than basking in every single moment that made up my first two years as a Zag. Not only that, but as an aspiring attorney with goals of attending an Ivy League law school I am constantly imagining life postgrad. I grapple every single day with the prospect of NOT scoring high on the LSAT, NOT graduating with a 4.0, and NOT connecting deeply with professors. If you know me, my entire concept of fulfillment is rooted in whether I succeed years in the future.

My time in Zambia has deeply shifted my mindset on the idea of time, but more importantly how I define fulfillment. In one of that computer literacy classes that Noah and I have had the privilege of teaching, we have two Franciscan Friars named Remy and Steve. For those of you who have no idea what a Franciscan Friar is (I certainly didn’t): Friars are a part of the Roman Catholic Church and commit to a life of poverty, chastity, obedience, dedication to the poor, and spreading of the gospel. Remy and Steve are two of our more consistent students and I have had many conversations with them about their daily responsibilities, life mission, and personal stories. They both aspire to become ordained priests and are in year 5 of a rigorous 12 year process that includes 8 years of university education in both philosophy and theology, as well as years of service in local communities. 

After learning of their daily routines of mass, prayer, community engagement, mass, and more prayer, I asked them both “do you feel fulfilled?” In turn, they laughed and shared a look as if they couldn’t fathom the idea of fulfillment. As if fulfillment is not something that they grapple with daily because in their lives: commitment to the church, their community and their faith is the guiding purpose. In other words, it is the things they do every single day that give them fulfillment rather than one culminating goal.

It was in that moment that I recognized that my idea of the word is incredibly flawed. Because fulfilment is not always about where you are going but the steps you’re taking daily. It is sitting in and with your community and accompanying the people you meet along the way. It is the challenges you overcome that shape you as an individual. It is sitting with complicated emotions and building your character through them. And more importantly, it is slowing down and recognizing that the present is more important than the future; it is the now that manufactures your later. 

This trip has taught me the importance of slowing down. Accepting the unknown. Challenging expectations, and living in the present. Whether it is spending hours laughing with the ZamFam, staying late in class to chat with my students about life in Zambezi, or sitting in comfortable silence cooking dinner with Mama Katendi and Christine. Although small, every individual obstacle I face here is fulfilling because I’m in an unfamiliar space, with unfamiliar people, thus challenging everything I value in life. As Americans, it is a great privilege to want and aspire for more; to constantly strive to improve and make more of oneself. We almost never reach full fulfillment because there is always something we can add to our lives. Most residents of Zambezi do not have this luxury. Following this trip, I have no other choice but to recognize that there is so much richness right in front of me, not in years to come. 

During our time at the University of Zambia, Lusaka, professor Mwanza ended our tour by inviting us to “do the things that fulfill you,” something I’ve sat with the whole trip, often asking my fellow ZamFam how they define it for themselves. The conversations we’ve shared made me realize that my life has fulfillment in so many avenues that I failed to recognize as such. I have so much gratitude for the people I’ve met, the opportunities I’ve been given, and the future I’m able to dream about. 

When I return to the US, I vow to step back and enjoy the minute moments and look back on the experiences that altered my idea of success. Without this trip and being a part of the Zambezi community, I’d be stuck with a definition of fulfillment that focuses on an end result rather than recognizing the richness of the present. 

The beautifully infectious smiles of the Zambian people are ingrained into my mind forever. I am indebted to the Zambezi community and its ability to challenge my personal expectations and definition of fulfillment and will take these lessons long after my time as a Zag. 

With so much love,

Morgan Wilson 
Class of 2028
ZamFam ‘26

To my mom: Growing up in your home has molded me in unexplainable ways—as a woman, as a friend, and as a leader. It is through you that I have become me. I cannot wait to see you. I love you. (P.S. You should’ve heard me screaming when I saw a mouse on my bed in Dipalata…not chill) 

To my family, Madison, Miya, Dad, Micah, and grandma: I miss you all beyond words. I cannot wait to return home to share with you everything that we’ve experienced here. Our family unit has allowed me to have the courage to complicate, invite, and support. Your comments have made this trip so much easier. I love you. (Miya: thank you for remaining a constant in my life, get ready for the longest debrief ever.) 

To C. Wells: You’d be so shocked about the things I’ve done here. I miss us and can’t wait to pop ish with you next year. Living in the convent has made me so excited for our house. See you at SeaTac ❤️ 

I’m the last person in the cycle to post!!!! Back to the top for our final week in Zambezi. 😙

When I first started martial arts, my teacher introduced me to an exercise that has become a key element of my warm-up routine. The exercise goes like this: you stand with your feet hip-width distance apart, and you imagine you’re a tree. On your first breath in, you imagine your feet are roots drawing in energy from the ground. As you breathe out, you push that energy back into your feet, sending your roots deeper into the ground. On your second breath, you reach up, imagining your arms are branches, soaking up the sunlight and absorbing energy through each part of yourself. This exercise not only gets you ready to move but helps you feel connected to the earth, which is an essential part of any martial arts practice.

 I have found that the dichotomy of roots and branches present in this exercise is an apt metaphor for my time in Zambezi. There is a certain cyclic nature to our time here; duality is an essential part of this experience. Every day, all 21 of us are asked to maintain a constant balance between reflection and experience, between thinking about the things we experience and using those thoughts to enhance our experience.

Soaking in the sunlight refers to the ways in which we engage with the Zambezi community. Whether it’s through our community classes, school placements, or hospital visits, every single one of us spends a significant portion of our day out in the community, engaging with local Zambians as they go about their daily lives. For me this week, that looked like teaching a class about nouns using an in-class skit about a market, helping a kid named Glory learn phonics, and having a 20-minute-long conversation with Prince, a local vendor, about the similarities between zucchini and okra, among other things. That engagement is the bread and butter of this experience. We are here to exchange knowledge with local Zambians, to learn from them as they learn from us. The only way we can do that is through these conversations, even when it’s uncomfortable.

Especially when it’s uncomfortable. This week, we listened to our Lunda and Luvale teacher, Mr. Kasepa, talk about the traditional coming-of-age practices in the country. Quite a few glances were exchanged when he started talking about how circumcision apparently prevents someone from getting HIV/AIDs. He’s a great language teacher, but maybe we shouldn’t look to him for public health advice. There are other, more general moments of discomfort as well. It was uncomfortable when our homestay hosts kept referring to us as “real whites” and kept trying to get us to take a bath before we left after our many attempts to politely decline. It is uncomfortable when I am immediately swarmed by a gaggle of children, enamored with the strange visitors whenever I step outside the convent and am forced to choose between telling them I need some space or just allowing them to follow me wherever I go. Still, without these uncomfortable moments, our understanding of the Zambezi community is one-dimensional; we need to experience the community with all its nuances.

In the quieter moments, we honor the roots aspect of this dichotomy. We take the sunlight, and we reflect on it, whether that’s through our journals, our nightly reflections, and deep conversations with our Zambian partners. Those moments are what allow us to take those moments of sunlight, process them, and apply those lessons to our own lives. This week, I have found myself consistently thinking about something that a teacher at the boarding school, Daniel Phiri, said to me: “You cannot lead those you do not love.” A couple of days later, he gave me some other advice, which was to find moments to connect with your students as human to human, not teacher to student. Today, I remembered both of these things, and I took time out of the civics lesson I was co-teaching (shoutout Joe) to ask students about “Salt-sana” a popular political meme in their country (For those that are interested, it is basically the Zambian equivalent of “67” which, for anyone that knows me, is a meme I love to overuse). In that moment, laughing and joking alongside them, I felt a beautifully humanizing connection form. By spending time within the roots and taking the time to love and respect my students as humans, I was able to experience a beautiful moment of sunlight.

 I also find roots and branches in moments with my fellow Zags. I find branches in the way we all go to the market together and buy bars of chocolate (and suspicious bubblegum soft drinks) from Delta Camp, the way the education group sings our lungs out on the way to the schools in the morning, and the way we all collectively roast Jeff day in and day out. I find roots in the comforting shoulder rubs people give during the tears that often fall during blog comments and in the thoughtful insights everyone gives during our nightly reflections.

As many others have noted on this blog, this experience is intense and complicated. But day in and day out, I see my fellow Zags navigating the roots and branches in their daily experiences with a smile on their face and laughter in their hearts. As we all seek to achieve this balance in our Zambezi routines, I find myself incredibly grateful for all the wonderful people I am undertaking this experience with.

To honor both the roots and branches is what allows us to get the most out of Zambezi. Just like the community itself, our experience here is rich and nuanced. Some days are good, and some days are bad. In every day, there are moments of joy and there are moments of melancholy. There are moments of triumph and there are moments of defeat. Every emotion is found in every moment here. Roots are found in every branch here, and branches are found in every root. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Peace,

Sean Coughlin, ZamFam ‘26

Messages

Marco – Happy graduation dude! I am sorry I can’t be there, but I am so proud of you and am very excited about seeing where you go next.

Caroline – Sis, I don’t know exactly when you “graduate”, but I wanted to let you know just how proud I am of you and your perseverance these past few years. You are a very kind, creative, and funny person, and I’m very excited to see you when I get back. Give Oreo a big snuggle when you get back from San Jose for me. Also, 5.

To all my friends, Gonzaga and otherwise – Some of you should comment on this or something. Insert thinking emoji Anyways, I miss y’all very much and can’t wait to fill y’all in about my adventures when I get back! Jack, I look forward to resuming our GamePigeon games.🐳 Jeff says hi.

 To Kale, from Liv: “I am very proud of you, and I can’t wait to talk about it with you when I get home. I love you, please comment on the current blog post.” – ZamFam 26

To Lily, from Joe: Happy one year!! I miss you and I can’t wait to catch up when I get back and have a few months actually in the same state haha. Have an amazing day! ❤️❤️(heart emoji) x2

To Andrea and Rob, from Meg: Hi! Is Greece totally out of the question for your daughter in approximately 2.5 weeks? Not quite ready to let her go. Also, I gave her a haircut (with kitchen scissors)!✂️

To Andrea and Rob, from Sam: Mom, I have a bob now!

In the beginning of November, I received an email notifying me that I had been accepted into the Gonzaga in Zambezi study abroad! I was ecstatic and had no trouble pressing the button to confirm my acceptance into the program. In the days leading up to our departure, I accepted that I was about to go on this trip that would undoubtedly show me new perspectives. It wasn’t until our plane landed in Zambezi that the weight of the trip landed on me. It seemed as if, out of nowhere, I had created sky-high expectations for this trip that I did not have prior to boarding the plane. I am not even sure what these expectations are, much less how to describe them, but I keep hitting a roadblock eating at me while in my classroom. Rather than confront these overwhelming expectations, I let it consume me until I felt ready to go home after spending a few short days in Zambezi.

When the education group toured Chilenga, we were in the head teacher’s office when I heard that they have a special education classroom. My ears perked up and I asked if I could be placed in this classroom. I requested to work in the special education unit because of volunteer work I do at home and at school. I am in a club at Gonzaga called GUSR, and this club means the world to me! It is a club for adults with special needs, and they are some of my favorite people in the world. Through my years of working with people with special needs, I have grown more aware of the injustices that the community faces.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when I walked into the classroom on my first day, but I left feeling conflicted. The teaching styles that are used in the classroom range from harsh—yelling and telling the students that the work is “very simple”—to the more familiar  style of teaching I’ve seen in American schools. There are two teachers in the classroom, one who uses the harsher technique and the other, Prince, who has a style of teaching we might see in the US.

During my time in the classroom, I have enjoyed talking to Prince and learning how he ended up working in this classroom. When Prince was in university, he was studying physical therapy and education, but eventually added Zambian sign language to his course load. He added this class because he admired the teacher, who was not deaf but learned ZSL, and he now teaches people with hearing impairments. Through this teacher, Prince learned ZSL and eventually went down the path of education and special education. Prince has a caring demeanor, jokes around with his students, and is willing to give feedback.

In the classroom, I have noticed that the students are rarely praised for their work. When I started teaching math (if you know me this doesn’t add up) to the class, I called students to the chalkboard and asked them to help me solve the problem. When they finished the equation, whether they got it right or needed some assistance, I started giving them double high-fives. This pattern has continued for a few days, but now the students are the ones initiating high fives. When they started doing this it made me so incredibly happy, which led to a realization. That joy I’ve seen in the high fives gives me a similar satisfaction as GUSR, and my interest in the learners in the Special Unit reflects my passion for serving those with special needs at home. All of this is leading me to consider whether I might want to work in a special education classroom. Looks like I might switch my major…again!

Xo,

Katie DeMello
Zam Fam 26

Messages!!

To my friends! I miss you all so much! I can’t wait to catch up! I miss your hugs and humor!!! Also, Samie there is a cat here that you would love! Her name is Linus!

Emma Isabel Nielsen: DUDE WE ABSOLUTELY NEED TO DO TEMPORARY TATTOOS!!! Also yes yes yes to Sun Splash and Chicago Fire!!! I’ve genuinely told everyone about the restaurant!

Aunt Sheila, Lila, and Heidi: I miss our weekly phone calls! I can’t wait to see you this summer! We must do the face masks!!

To my family: I am so excited to catch up on what has been happening at home! Thank you for all the comments you have been leaving! I really appreciate them!

To my cousins! I’ve played hide n seek two times on this trip! Let’s just say the years of us playing are paying off!