I returned home eleven weeks ago, and I feel I am finally ready to write my last blog entry about my Zambia adventure. I have spent a lot of time reflecting on my experiences and what I learned from them. I realize I have learned as much about myself as I did about Zambia, especially my imperfections. For example, I never realized that respect had become so important to me. Did this happen as I got older? I have always believed that the young should show respect to their elders. This is Biblical. When, however, did I cross the invisible line of being one of the elders?
There have also been moments of overwhelming sadness. It feels like a hole inside my chest that refuses to go away. I noticed it after my first meal off the plane. Mike took my daughter and me to The Outback. The bill came, and it was almost $40.00. All I could think about was how many people that would feed in Zambia. These culture shock moments quickly faded, but times of sadness still come unexpectantly.
I fell in love with Zambia and my sisters. Reflecting on their hard work, and tenacious ability to survive things that would devastate me, causes my heart to embrace the memory and not let go of it. The realization, however, of their private and unexpressed grief makes me long to be with them. I know I could not change their hardships, but I could offer comfort. They could express forbidden tears with someone willing to share their sorrow with tears of her own. It may not be much, but it is what I have to offer. I wonder if God will allow me to return someday to teach grief counseling.
Every memory is like the one above. First, the memory is filled with wonder and gratefulness for the opportunity. Second, it is filled with sadness as I remember the suffering. Third, it is filled with questions and frustrations at the lack of concern and action on our part to ease the suffering. Must we drive beautiful new cars to church to sit Sunday after Sunday in a nice building, with nice stuff, while our brothers and sisters sit on logs with empty bellies? Finally, it is filled with challenge. What does God want me to do? Every memory has to be sorted and filed in such a way that I do not become consumed with something I cannot change. It is exhausting work.
I promised in my last entry to tell you of some ways I was able to make a difference. In the last few weeks of my visit, I knew I could not leave Zambia without doing something, no matter how small. Somehow, I knew it would be my sanity when I returned home. After talking with World Hope staff, I decided to sponsor a child. His name is Junior, and he is nine years old. After his father’s death he, his brothers and his mother lost their home. It is a common practice for the man’s family to take all his property leaving the wife with nothing. There are new laws against this practice, but it is hard to enforce. I was able to meet Junior before I left. I was introduced as his new grandmother. I am honored. It was an amazing experience. I had fun shopping for his school supplies and buying him a soccer ball. Junior will now be able to attend a good school, and his family will have enough to eat. In exchange, I am blessed with the peace that comes from knowing that I get to make a difference for one.
I have been asked many times, if I could do it over, would I do the study abroad program again. There is not an easy answer to this question. I am amazed at the miracle of this experience. How many married women my age get such a gift? I am grateful for my Guistwhite scholarship. I am also grateful to the Jack Kent Cooke Foundation who encourages their scholars to have a study abroad experience and provides funding for my education. Most importantly, I was blessed with a supportive husband and church family. With all this in mind, I would not do a three-month trip again without my husband. It was difficult not having Mike there to process and share experiences with.
I hear from my Zambia brothers and sisters every now and then. I love continuing to share in their lives. I really hope to travel to Zambia again armed with the knowledge and tools to help make a difference, this time with Mike by my side. We will see.
Thank you dear friends and family for following my journey with me. Your involvement helped make this the adventure of a lifetime.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
My Last Blog Entry from Zambia
This is my last blog entry from Zambia. Tomorrow morning we leave for Livingstone, Zambia to see Victoria Falls, and Friday we will go on a safari. Saturday we board the plane for the long journey home. As the time draws near to say goodbye to my friends here, it has become bittersweet. I am excited to be home with my family, sleeping in my own bed, using my own toilet, riding my motorcycle, and taking a clean shower. Everyone here keeps asking me if I am excited to be leaving. My answer is simple. I am anxious to be with my family, but if they were here, I would choose to stay in Zambia. As a matter of fact, there are some Zambian friends praying that God will bring Mike and I back.
It is hard to leave so many new friends with so many needs. I wish I could help each one, but there are so many. I have, however, made some differences. I will save these for my last blog entry, the one I write when I return home.
I know there will be adjustments as I return to a country where so many have so much. I can imagine that visions of affluence will jockey to overcome visions of entrenched poverty and sickness. I pray God will help me find a new balance, one that never forgets, always acts, and brings peace knowing God is still in control.
I am going home tired and exhausted, but I also go home with a renewed understanding of God’s mercy and grace. My Zambian brothers and sisters in the Lord have shown me a side of God I have never seen. They have shown me what complete dependence on God really looks like. Oh, I thought I understood this, but I have never had to depend on God for each meal or each breath. I have seen what joy in the Lord looks like, to praise God even in sorrow, to praise God in all things. I have seen people walk miles just to worship their Father with other believers, and I have seen pastors who ride a bicycle day in and day out to visit a congregation that is miles and miles apart. I have seen sacrifice in a country that, by our standards, have little to sacrifice.
Yes, there will be many things to process when I get home, but I am going home a richer person. I have been blessed to be here, and I pray that God will bring Mike and I back, even if only for a visit.
It is hard to leave so many new friends with so many needs. I wish I could help each one, but there are so many. I have, however, made some differences. I will save these for my last blog entry, the one I write when I return home.
I know there will be adjustments as I return to a country where so many have so much. I can imagine that visions of affluence will jockey to overcome visions of entrenched poverty and sickness. I pray God will help me find a new balance, one that never forgets, always acts, and brings peace knowing God is still in control.
I am going home tired and exhausted, but I also go home with a renewed understanding of God’s mercy and grace. My Zambian brothers and sisters in the Lord have shown me a side of God I have never seen. They have shown me what complete dependence on God really looks like. Oh, I thought I understood this, but I have never had to depend on God for each meal or each breath. I have seen what joy in the Lord looks like, to praise God even in sorrow, to praise God in all things. I have seen people walk miles just to worship their Father with other believers, and I have seen pastors who ride a bicycle day in and day out to visit a congregation that is miles and miles apart. I have seen sacrifice in a country that, by our standards, have little to sacrifice.
Yes, there will be many things to process when I get home, but I am going home a richer person. I have been blessed to be here, and I pray that God will bring Mike and I back, even if only for a visit.
My Last Visit in Zambia
Our last week in the field was spent building a hen house. Of course, the men did the building and the ladies carried bricks and water. Women came from the village carrying corn, pumpkin, ground nuts (peanuts), and the pots to cook it all in.
We were introduced to the pastor. Like many of the small village churches the pastor was a woman who stepped up to fill an empty pulpit. God bless them, because it is a job no pastor would envy. There is constant loss, constant poverty, and no salary.
I was introduced to the village as Muyi Bussa, which means wife of the pastor. It is a term of respect that Maureen, our Zambian hostess, gave me last week. I was honored to receive my Zambian name from someone I respect so much. Maureen has become as close as a sister, and I am going to miss her very much. It will be hard to tell her goodbye.
We women carried bricks from the “oven” to the hen house. The bricks are made from giant ant hill dirt that has been abandoned. I would not want to meet the ants that made that hill. The women were carrying bricks on their heads, 2 at a time. Now, these bricks are big and heavy. I was amazed, so I asked to carry 2 on my head. The pastor told me just 1, but I told her I wanted 2 also. I made many trips with 2 bricks on my head. I could not get the balance to carry them with no hands, but it didn’t matter. The women began calling me Muyi Bussa. Names have meaning, some are earned and some are given because of birth order, or to show grief. A child born after the loss of a sibling may be called a name that means “sorrow.” A girl child who is born in the midst of brothers may be called Beenzu, “visitor.” A boy who is born after his sisters may be given the name Chimuka, it means “late.”
During our brick carrying time, I was handed a bright green stalk by an older woman who was showing me what to do with it. You bite into it and pull the tough outside off with your teeth. Then you chew what is left like bubble gum. It was sugar cane, and it was good. Unfortunately, I did not understand that you spit it out when the flavor is gone. I had little slivers of fibers in my throat the rest of the day. The other team members laughed at me. I’m so glad I could provide a little midday entertainment.
I also carried a jug of water on my head. We walked a pretty good distance to the closest water hole, a pond that was smelly and stagnant. I had second thoughts, but was not about to back out. One of the women gave me a chitenge that was coiled and placed on my head. The jug was placed on my head. At first, it was very heavy and I was so afraid I would drop it. Slowly, I began to get the hang of balancing it. I was even able to use only one hand just to balance it. We walked past a small building, like the size of my bathroom, that served as a bar. I heard the men inside laugh and say, “mukuwa.” This means white person. I started laughing and yelled, “I heard that.” The amazing thing was I did not drop the water while I laughed. Isn’t it sad to know that man can find a way to a bottle no matter how poor, or how small the community is? While those men drank, women were out trying to find food to feed their children and the man who spent what little they had on drink.
I watched an older woman sitting on the ground weaving a basket. I must admit, there is no way I could sit on a hard ground that long. Her crooked fingers moved swiftly, wrapping the dried grass around a reed or stalk of some kind. Through an interpreter, I asked her how long it takes to make a small basket. She said 3 days, if she does nothing else. What is the cost of all that labor? Less than $5.00.
As we prepared to leave, the pastor prayed for us and we prayed for them. Neither of us could understand the other. Somehow, when standing in God’s presence on behalf of the other, no interpretation was necessary. The spirit of heart language was understood loud and clear. God brought us together in the Holy Spirit and nothing else seemed to matter.
We were introduced to the pastor. Like many of the small village churches the pastor was a woman who stepped up to fill an empty pulpit. God bless them, because it is a job no pastor would envy. There is constant loss, constant poverty, and no salary.
I was introduced to the village as Muyi Bussa, which means wife of the pastor. It is a term of respect that Maureen, our Zambian hostess, gave me last week. I was honored to receive my Zambian name from someone I respect so much. Maureen has become as close as a sister, and I am going to miss her very much. It will be hard to tell her goodbye.
We women carried bricks from the “oven” to the hen house. The bricks are made from giant ant hill dirt that has been abandoned. I would not want to meet the ants that made that hill. The women were carrying bricks on their heads, 2 at a time. Now, these bricks are big and heavy. I was amazed, so I asked to carry 2 on my head. The pastor told me just 1, but I told her I wanted 2 also. I made many trips with 2 bricks on my head. I could not get the balance to carry them with no hands, but it didn’t matter. The women began calling me Muyi Bussa. Names have meaning, some are earned and some are given because of birth order, or to show grief. A child born after the loss of a sibling may be called a name that means “sorrow.” A girl child who is born in the midst of brothers may be called Beenzu, “visitor.” A boy who is born after his sisters may be given the name Chimuka, it means “late.”
During our brick carrying time, I was handed a bright green stalk by an older woman who was showing me what to do with it. You bite into it and pull the tough outside off with your teeth. Then you chew what is left like bubble gum. It was sugar cane, and it was good. Unfortunately, I did not understand that you spit it out when the flavor is gone. I had little slivers of fibers in my throat the rest of the day. The other team members laughed at me. I’m so glad I could provide a little midday entertainment.
I also carried a jug of water on my head. We walked a pretty good distance to the closest water hole, a pond that was smelly and stagnant. I had second thoughts, but was not about to back out. One of the women gave me a chitenge that was coiled and placed on my head. The jug was placed on my head. At first, it was very heavy and I was so afraid I would drop it. Slowly, I began to get the hang of balancing it. I was even able to use only one hand just to balance it. We walked past a small building, like the size of my bathroom, that served as a bar. I heard the men inside laugh and say, “mukuwa.” This means white person. I started laughing and yelled, “I heard that.” The amazing thing was I did not drop the water while I laughed. Isn’t it sad to know that man can find a way to a bottle no matter how poor, or how small the community is? While those men drank, women were out trying to find food to feed their children and the man who spent what little they had on drink.
I watched an older woman sitting on the ground weaving a basket. I must admit, there is no way I could sit on a hard ground that long. Her crooked fingers moved swiftly, wrapping the dried grass around a reed or stalk of some kind. Through an interpreter, I asked her how long it takes to make a small basket. She said 3 days, if she does nothing else. What is the cost of all that labor? Less than $5.00.
As we prepared to leave, the pastor prayed for us and we prayed for them. Neither of us could understand the other. Somehow, when standing in God’s presence on behalf of the other, no interpretation was necessary. The spirit of heart language was understood loud and clear. God brought us together in the Holy Spirit and nothing else seemed to matter.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
March 19, 2009
Today we visited children in the OVC program (orphans and vulnerable children). I could tell you about each of the children we visited, but I just can’t put what I’m feeling into words. There were more starving children, children with dreams that seem out of reach for a fourteen year old child who has never owned a pair of shoes. There was a girl who is stigmatized because her mother cannot afford $3.00 for a uniform. This makes her poor among the poor.
I gently laid my hand on the mother’s back as I prayed for her and her children, and she wept. It was the tears of a lonely woman who wants what all mothers want, a better life for her children than she had.
Today a fourteen year old girl, named Mercy, invaded my reality. Keep in mind that I have raised many girls with horror stories of their own. Can you, should you become sensitized to children's nightmares? This girl was obviously living by herself. She told us she was a Christian. I asked her who she could ask for help if she needed it. She looked at me for the first time and said, “no one.” She is attending school, because she wants to be a teacher. Her gaze never met mine again. She did what many females do here, look away or down. In the back ground of our circle sat an elderly man watching us. Most men in a village will approach the group, shake all of our hands and join the visit. I felt Satan’s presence. I knew there was a battle being waged for this young girl’s life. We laid hands on her and prayed for protection, prayed for her life in Christ to stay strong, for her choices to be God’s choices.
Poverty is in bed with Satan. It steals the hope of the oppressed. Without hope minds begin to see no way out. When you see no way out, creative solutions erode. It is like the imagination of a child who builds a sand castle and dreams of being a princess. The tide comes in and beats against the walls until they cave in. The child says, “Why build another one? The tide will come again.” In a state of defeat, the child’s thoughts do not see that building the castle farther from the ocean would bring victory.
It is so easy to be overwhelmed with the great need and do nothing. Doesn’t Satan just love that? We may not be able to save the whole world, but we can send one child to school. It will be one less child who will not sell her body for school supplies and a uniform.
On the lighter side: I will be leaving Choma, Zambia two weeks from today. We are going to Livingstone to see Victoria Falls (one of the Seven Wonders of the World) and go on a safari. I can’t wait for these adventures, and to be home. I miss my family and friends.
Today I was given a Zambian name, Mayi Bbusa, by my sister Maureen. It means “Wife of the Shepherd.” It is what a pastor’s wife is called here to show respect for her.
We also stopped at the mission house in Zimba and were served tacos and brownies. Joan Wallace, the missionary nurse, was a great hostess. We have come to really care about Joan, and not just because she serves us great food.
Our new guest house now has hot water, which we are very grateful for. If you live in Wabash, see you in two weeks.
I gently laid my hand on the mother’s back as I prayed for her and her children, and she wept. It was the tears of a lonely woman who wants what all mothers want, a better life for her children than she had.
Today a fourteen year old girl, named Mercy, invaded my reality. Keep in mind that I have raised many girls with horror stories of their own. Can you, should you become sensitized to children's nightmares? This girl was obviously living by herself. She told us she was a Christian. I asked her who she could ask for help if she needed it. She looked at me for the first time and said, “no one.” She is attending school, because she wants to be a teacher. Her gaze never met mine again. She did what many females do here, look away or down. In the back ground of our circle sat an elderly man watching us. Most men in a village will approach the group, shake all of our hands and join the visit. I felt Satan’s presence. I knew there was a battle being waged for this young girl’s life. We laid hands on her and prayed for protection, prayed for her life in Christ to stay strong, for her choices to be God’s choices.
Poverty is in bed with Satan. It steals the hope of the oppressed. Without hope minds begin to see no way out. When you see no way out, creative solutions erode. It is like the imagination of a child who builds a sand castle and dreams of being a princess. The tide comes in and beats against the walls until they cave in. The child says, “Why build another one? The tide will come again.” In a state of defeat, the child’s thoughts do not see that building the castle farther from the ocean would bring victory.
It is so easy to be overwhelmed with the great need and do nothing. Doesn’t Satan just love that? We may not be able to save the whole world, but we can send one child to school. It will be one less child who will not sell her body for school supplies and a uniform.
On the lighter side: I will be leaving Choma, Zambia two weeks from today. We are going to Livingstone to see Victoria Falls (one of the Seven Wonders of the World) and go on a safari. I can’t wait for these adventures, and to be home. I miss my family and friends.
Today I was given a Zambian name, Mayi Bbusa, by my sister Maureen. It means “Wife of the Shepherd.” It is what a pastor’s wife is called here to show respect for her.
We also stopped at the mission house in Zimba and were served tacos and brownies. Joan Wallace, the missionary nurse, was a great hostess. We have come to really care about Joan, and not just because she serves us great food.
Our new guest house now has hot water, which we are very grateful for. If you live in Wabash, see you in two weeks.
God is Still Challenging Me
WARNING: I am writing the next two entrys at the end of a long day, so please excuse typos, or any embarrassing things I might have below.
How can a day be both wonderful and disheartening? Tuesday we visited HIV/AIDS clients in their homes. It was raining so many of the visits took place in the kitchens. A kitchen is a small short hut with a slow burning fire in the middle. We sat on Tonga stools, short pieces of carved wood, while the families sit on the dirt floors. The smoke burned my eyes, and in such a small place there was no getting away from it. The first client was a young man. He is in constant pain. His father is helping him, and his mother has not been “right” since her son was diagnosed with the virus. There are no counseling opportunities for families of AIDS patients.
The second home was an entire family. Both the husband and wife have tested positive, plus two of their children. This family is unique because the couple is still together, and the husband has been tested. Their prayer request is to live long enough to see their children be able to care for their basic needs. Do husband and wife share the fear that they will out live their children? Precious little Grace may not see many birthdays. The mother sat silent while the father did most of the talking. She did not make eye contact or engage with us. Most of the villages we visit do not have men present, but if they are, they do a lot of the talking. I asked the mother what she does when she feels sad. She said, “I never feel sad.” When the interpreter asked the question differently I was told that she refuses to be sad because this would take away from the joy of being able to accomplish small things.
The third home was a mother with an infant, both are positive. The mother has so little to eat that her breast milk has dried up. This 3 month baby is eating shema, the corn meal staple, when that is available. The mother prays for more food so the baby will not cry from hunger. Because the mother has an empty stomach she gets sick from the ARVs. These medications must be taken with good food, something in short supply everywhere we go.
In the fourth home I was the only team member who could enter the kitchen. It was the smallest, and it had a bed in it. The child was the client. Many of these children are being raised by elderly grandparents or aunts. This makes these elderly people, who no longer can work very vulnerable, which in turn, makes the child more vulnerable. Many will be married off at an early age, due to lack of resources to care for all the children. The prayer request in this home: That God would add days to the child’s life.
What do we do on these visits? We listen to their stories. We read them Bible passages, as 90% of Zambians do not own their own Bibles. We touch them as we pray for them, and as is the custom, we bring them a gift. The gift is mealy meal (the stuff for Shema), a bag of sugar, and a bottle of cooking oil. This means survival for two more weeks, perhaps three if they only eat once a day. The miracle of this gift is the receiver. They do not think in terms of how long they can feed their family with this gift. They will share what little they have with whoever around them has the need. They will not have full stomachs while their neighbors’ stomach is empty.
All this emotion in one day. I think I will spend the rest of my life putting all the images floating around in my head into categories God can use.
How can a day be both wonderful and disheartening? Tuesday we visited HIV/AIDS clients in their homes. It was raining so many of the visits took place in the kitchens. A kitchen is a small short hut with a slow burning fire in the middle. We sat on Tonga stools, short pieces of carved wood, while the families sit on the dirt floors. The smoke burned my eyes, and in such a small place there was no getting away from it. The first client was a young man. He is in constant pain. His father is helping him, and his mother has not been “right” since her son was diagnosed with the virus. There are no counseling opportunities for families of AIDS patients.
The second home was an entire family. Both the husband and wife have tested positive, plus two of their children. This family is unique because the couple is still together, and the husband has been tested. Their prayer request is to live long enough to see their children be able to care for their basic needs. Do husband and wife share the fear that they will out live their children? Precious little Grace may not see many birthdays. The mother sat silent while the father did most of the talking. She did not make eye contact or engage with us. Most of the villages we visit do not have men present, but if they are, they do a lot of the talking. I asked the mother what she does when she feels sad. She said, “I never feel sad.” When the interpreter asked the question differently I was told that she refuses to be sad because this would take away from the joy of being able to accomplish small things.
The third home was a mother with an infant, both are positive. The mother has so little to eat that her breast milk has dried up. This 3 month baby is eating shema, the corn meal staple, when that is available. The mother prays for more food so the baby will not cry from hunger. Because the mother has an empty stomach she gets sick from the ARVs. These medications must be taken with good food, something in short supply everywhere we go.
In the fourth home I was the only team member who could enter the kitchen. It was the smallest, and it had a bed in it. The child was the client. Many of these children are being raised by elderly grandparents or aunts. This makes these elderly people, who no longer can work very vulnerable, which in turn, makes the child more vulnerable. Many will be married off at an early age, due to lack of resources to care for all the children. The prayer request in this home: That God would add days to the child’s life.
What do we do on these visits? We listen to their stories. We read them Bible passages, as 90% of Zambians do not own their own Bibles. We touch them as we pray for them, and as is the custom, we bring them a gift. The gift is mealy meal (the stuff for Shema), a bag of sugar, and a bottle of cooking oil. This means survival for two more weeks, perhaps three if they only eat once a day. The miracle of this gift is the receiver. They do not think in terms of how long they can feed their family with this gift. They will share what little they have with whoever around them has the need. They will not have full stomachs while their neighbors’ stomach is empty.
All this emotion in one day. I think I will spend the rest of my life putting all the images floating around in my head into categories God can use.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Being Used
When I was asked what project I wanted to work on I chose community planning. I put youth ministry as my last choice. I wanted to learn something new. My choice was based on what was good for me.
This week I was asked to attend a pastor's week of training. The training was to educate pastors on the HIV/AIDS Pandemic and how to support the youth in their congregations. "Youth" is anyone 12 to 30 who is not married. This is the age group that is at the greatest risk for HIV/AIDS in Zambia.
On Monday I was asked to co-facilitate a session on mentoring and disciplining youth. At the end of the week, I realized that God used my weird collection of experience with youth to minister to a group of male and female pastors that know they are losing their youth due to a fast change in culture and tradition. They do not know how to work with this new generation of youth, but they are so anxious and willing. At the beginning of the session I told them that we Americans may say something to embarrass ourselves, and they should feel free to laugh at us. We did not disappoint them. They were gracious,however, even when I used the word "dating." You see, in this culture you would never "date" except for the purpose of having sex. They asked us if youths dated more than one person. Audrey said, "all the time." They gave us the Christian look of shame. :) Finally, the WHIZ facilitator clued us in. We have had many laughs about this in the last few days. When I explained that I was talking about a time to talk and get to know the person, and find out whether the person was as godly as they claimed to be, I was in good graces again. I feel blessed to have been used in a critical area. I'm so glad God does not always give us what we want.
We moved this week into the new WHIZ guest house. It is beautiful and large. Most importantly we have almost constant internet access. I finally downloaded research that I desperately needed. We are thrilled to be the first team to use this new facility, and realize this may be considered a selfish thrill :)
We were moved at night, probably when the truck was available. We had a few surprises waiting for us, even though we were excited. First, since the bunk beds would not fit in the rooms we were suppose to stay in, we were put in a room that had not been cleaned or have full screens on the windows. Due to mosquitos, we had to keep the windows closed. It got a little toasty. The next surprise came when I needed to use the toilet. I lifted the lid, and lets just say it was nasty in there. Next I realized there was an open window. I went to close it and a baby frog jumped on me from the window sill. I screamed. Next, Audrey came running into our bedroom to let me know the door had to be shut because a bat was in the house. Brandon chased it back into the attic, and we were safe once more. We are calling him Batman. The last surprise was how cold shower time was. I think God just needed to remind us we were in Africa even though we had moved up in the world.
Today a flatbed truck pulled up with the remainder of "stuff." Boxes are hard to come by here so most things were just thrown on. We have managed to get most of it put away. We wanted to surprise our housekeeper. She is a wonderful woman who serves in amazing ways, with a quiet and patient spirit. While she has not literally washed our feet, she has served us in the same humble way. I have prayed that some of her gentleness would rub off on me, but I'm still just as vocal as I was when I arrived in January :)
This week I was asked to attend a pastor's week of training. The training was to educate pastors on the HIV/AIDS Pandemic and how to support the youth in their congregations. "Youth" is anyone 12 to 30 who is not married. This is the age group that is at the greatest risk for HIV/AIDS in Zambia.
On Monday I was asked to co-facilitate a session on mentoring and disciplining youth. At the end of the week, I realized that God used my weird collection of experience with youth to minister to a group of male and female pastors that know they are losing their youth due to a fast change in culture and tradition. They do not know how to work with this new generation of youth, but they are so anxious and willing. At the beginning of the session I told them that we Americans may say something to embarrass ourselves, and they should feel free to laugh at us. We did not disappoint them. They were gracious,however, even when I used the word "dating." You see, in this culture you would never "date" except for the purpose of having sex. They asked us if youths dated more than one person. Audrey said, "all the time." They gave us the Christian look of shame. :) Finally, the WHIZ facilitator clued us in. We have had many laughs about this in the last few days. When I explained that I was talking about a time to talk and get to know the person, and find out whether the person was as godly as they claimed to be, I was in good graces again. I feel blessed to have been used in a critical area. I'm so glad God does not always give us what we want.
We moved this week into the new WHIZ guest house. It is beautiful and large. Most importantly we have almost constant internet access. I finally downloaded research that I desperately needed. We are thrilled to be the first team to use this new facility, and realize this may be considered a selfish thrill :)
We were moved at night, probably when the truck was available. We had a few surprises waiting for us, even though we were excited. First, since the bunk beds would not fit in the rooms we were suppose to stay in, we were put in a room that had not been cleaned or have full screens on the windows. Due to mosquitos, we had to keep the windows closed. It got a little toasty. The next surprise came when I needed to use the toilet. I lifted the lid, and lets just say it was nasty in there. Next I realized there was an open window. I went to close it and a baby frog jumped on me from the window sill. I screamed. Next, Audrey came running into our bedroom to let me know the door had to be shut because a bat was in the house. Brandon chased it back into the attic, and we were safe once more. We are calling him Batman. The last surprise was how cold shower time was. I think God just needed to remind us we were in Africa even though we had moved up in the world.
Today a flatbed truck pulled up with the remainder of "stuff." Boxes are hard to come by here so most things were just thrown on. We have managed to get most of it put away. We wanted to surprise our housekeeper. She is a wonderful woman who serves in amazing ways, with a quiet and patient spirit. While she has not literally washed our feet, she has served us in the same humble way. I have prayed that some of her gentleness would rub off on me, but I'm still just as vocal as I was when I arrived in January :)
Laughter is Universal
As I am writing this I am listening to Matthew West on my laptop. I am so proud of myself, because I discovered how to download music off my mp3 player. In
This past week, I had the blessing to help deliver incentives to a village trust. Incentives are bestowed on trusts who are faithful stewards with what God has given them through World Hope International Zambia (WHIZ). The incentives consisted of 2 bags of corn meal, oil, sugar, soap, and laundry soap. This is enough to feed a family for a few weeks. These women laughed, praised God with song, and celebrated. We were told simply that the food had come just in time.
An elderly woman carried two bags of corn meal on her head to deposit into the church building. Another woman with a baby on her back carried three bags on her head. Each bag weighs about 23 pounds. I walked over and asked the men in the truck to place two bags on my head. The women laughed and clapped and let me know they appreciated my effort to follow their way. It was heavy, but fun. When I returned to the truck, the staff asked if I wanted to try three bags. I declined and accepted my two. The women laughed. The greatest joy I have experienced in
There was a drum outside the church, and I asked if anyone played. A young man was brought from the church to play. Charlotte, a team member, began moving her feet and soon several women came from the church to dance with her. The song was about God’s faithfulness. An elderly woman came out and ran in front of the young women making the loud celebratory noise we have come to enjoy. The pastor’s wife threw her a shatanga cloth and she made another trip down the line of girls waving it over them. It looked like a blessing.
I had my camera with me. I took a picture of a woman with her child. I showed her the picture on the back of my camera, and she was amazed. We have learned that taking pictures brings a lot of excitement in the village, for the young and old alike. They all want their pictures taken and then look at it. I wonder how many of these people have never seen themselves since mirrors are rare. Even in our guest house there are only two mirrors and both are the medicine cabinet size. There are no full length mirrors. Every morning you depend on your team members to tell you if something is showing that shouldn’t be.
The good thing is that I can’t see how much weight I have put on, eating mostly carbs. The first ingredient in bread is vegetable oil. It is hard to imagine that pasta could be starchier than at home, but it is true. Chicken is breaded and fried. Why would you have diet anything in a country where most people look like match sticks? That starchy shema keeps them full longer. I have been told I am fat. This is a compliment. It means you are healthy. In the
I always try to end the blog entry with something upbeat. Here it is: I have laughed more this past week than I have the whole time I have been here. My good friend
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Challenges and Lusaka
The last few weeks have flown by. There have been many struggles in our group that have challenged us all. Please pray for our team that now consists of two groups. One group of ten has returned to the states early and four students plus Dr. Garner and his wife make up those remaining in Africa.
Before part of the team returned to America, we had the opportunity to visit Lusaka, the capital city for three nights. I finally got a latte. I was one happy read headed American. We toured the University of Zambia, the only university in the country. There are 5,000 students. Few people in Zambia can attend. You must have money and very high grades.
We also went to the zoo where we were about 4 feet from lions. They were eating chicken, whole. Feathers everywhere and it smelled terrible. The lions did not seem happy to have visiters during dinner, and I jumped when it roared at us. They are really loud when you are that close. We also saw Pumbaa, the wart hog. Well, his name was not really Pumbaa, but that is what we called him. Our Zambian hostess, Maureen, began singing a Lion King song, and we all bust out laughing. She is usually so quiet. Some things are just universal.
We also went to an urban trust. It was much different than a rural trust. The houses were so close to each other. Everywhere you looked trash lined the streets. Along the same roads, produce and chickens were offered by women hoping to gain a little quatcha (currency). There was a barber shop which consisted of a chair in front of the house. The innocent children, however, looked the same, happy to have visitors. They seem void of the knowledge that life is hard for them.
Some elderly women showed us their school, which had a dirt floor and no chairs. Those teachers, without a college education, were so proud of that building and the one broken chalk board they shared. These wonderful people show us over and over that empowerment should be the goal of all ministry. Programs only work when they create dignity and worth. Anything else is just a handout that continues to keep the “have nots” dependant on the “haves.” In other words, we continue to help others in order to feed our own egos or financial interests.
The pastor of the church in this trust is the only pastor for 500 people. I asked him if he dealt with a lot of HIV/AIDS, and he slowly and sadly replied, “Yes, and all I can do is pray and try to comfort them.” I told him that was the most important thing to do. In reality, however, I was mad. This gentle man is working in a community with an extremely high rate of HIV/AIDS and massive poverty, but he has received no seminary education as a pastor. He has no training in grief counseling. It appears to this outsider that these people have been left alone to struggle and die. They are neglected by THE church. This was the only place we have been where people made rude gestures at us or threw soft things at our vehicle. It is easy to see how anger can pour from so much suffering.
That evening we went to a Chinese restaurant. It was in an empty warehouse. It felt almost wrong after the sights of the day. All I could think of was my mom telling us to eat all our food because children in Africa were starving. I ate all my food and not one child in Africa was less hungry. On the other hand, it was a fun place and allowed everyone to relax after a long hard day.
On Sunday we went to church and all the praise songs were in English. I did not realize how much I missed praising God with words as well as music. Since my church in Choma is poor, we have no song books to use. Some people have a song book of their own, and if you are blessed enough to sit next to one of them, they will share with you. The songs are in Tonga, but you can at least pretend you are singing them right. It helped me to realize how hard it must be for those who immigrate to America without speaking English. How precious is a hymn sung in your heart language.
After church we went to a market to buy suveinirs. Most of the students really had fun, but I struggled with it. The sellers would give you a big price and then you would barter. I just had a hard time bartering with people who were starving. If I told them no thank you, they would say, “What is your offer?” If you walked away they would say things like, “Please Madame, look and offer. I need to buy food” or “Madame, business is slow, and I need to pay my space rent.” Now, in America this is often a business tactic, but many of these people were selling for someone else and really knew the meaning of hunger. I knew the patchwork purse offered had been stitched on a foot powered trendle machine. The going price? 15,000 k, or 3 U.S. dollars.
I began to get sick at the market and by Monday morning I was very sick. By night fall, I thought I was going to die. Not really, but close. Tuesday morning I went to the clinic, where I was admitted for dehydration and some bacteria thing. I about paniced when I saw the room, where three beds were placed. The bed was covered with something that looked like a blue checkered table cloth. The needle was new and wrapped. There was only one size so it was very painful as the nurse shoved it into the back of my hand. I noticed that my nurse did not wear gloves when she inflicted pain on my person. This really surprised me, especially in a country with a high HIV/AIDS rate. Patients’ families must bring in their food, which I had to smell when the lady next to me received her visitor. I survived the ordeal and am feeling much better. They took good care of me, and I saw my doctor about 8 times in that 8 hours.
As I type this, I am counting the weeks until I return home. I have 4 weeks from today of classes left, and will be home in 4.5 weeks. I am not anxious to leave behind the Zambian people or the friends I have made. I wish I could bring all of you here. Since I can’t, however, I am looking forward to being home. See you soon.
Before part of the team returned to America, we had the opportunity to visit Lusaka, the capital city for three nights. I finally got a latte. I was one happy read headed American. We toured the University of Zambia, the only university in the country. There are 5,000 students. Few people in Zambia can attend. You must have money and very high grades.
We also went to the zoo where we were about 4 feet from lions. They were eating chicken, whole. Feathers everywhere and it smelled terrible. The lions did not seem happy to have visiters during dinner, and I jumped when it roared at us. They are really loud when you are that close. We also saw Pumbaa, the wart hog. Well, his name was not really Pumbaa, but that is what we called him. Our Zambian hostess, Maureen, began singing a Lion King song, and we all bust out laughing. She is usually so quiet. Some things are just universal.
We also went to an urban trust. It was much different than a rural trust. The houses were so close to each other. Everywhere you looked trash lined the streets. Along the same roads, produce and chickens were offered by women hoping to gain a little quatcha (currency). There was a barber shop which consisted of a chair in front of the house. The innocent children, however, looked the same, happy to have visitors. They seem void of the knowledge that life is hard for them.
Some elderly women showed us their school, which had a dirt floor and no chairs. Those teachers, without a college education, were so proud of that building and the one broken chalk board they shared. These wonderful people show us over and over that empowerment should be the goal of all ministry. Programs only work when they create dignity and worth. Anything else is just a handout that continues to keep the “have nots” dependant on the “haves.” In other words, we continue to help others in order to feed our own egos or financial interests.
The pastor of the church in this trust is the only pastor for 500 people. I asked him if he dealt with a lot of HIV/AIDS, and he slowly and sadly replied, “Yes, and all I can do is pray and try to comfort them.” I told him that was the most important thing to do. In reality, however, I was mad. This gentle man is working in a community with an extremely high rate of HIV/AIDS and massive poverty, but he has received no seminary education as a pastor. He has no training in grief counseling. It appears to this outsider that these people have been left alone to struggle and die. They are neglected by THE church. This was the only place we have been where people made rude gestures at us or threw soft things at our vehicle. It is easy to see how anger can pour from so much suffering.
That evening we went to a Chinese restaurant. It was in an empty warehouse. It felt almost wrong after the sights of the day. All I could think of was my mom telling us to eat all our food because children in Africa were starving. I ate all my food and not one child in Africa was less hungry. On the other hand, it was a fun place and allowed everyone to relax after a long hard day.
On Sunday we went to church and all the praise songs were in English. I did not realize how much I missed praising God with words as well as music. Since my church in Choma is poor, we have no song books to use. Some people have a song book of their own, and if you are blessed enough to sit next to one of them, they will share with you. The songs are in Tonga, but you can at least pretend you are singing them right. It helped me to realize how hard it must be for those who immigrate to America without speaking English. How precious is a hymn sung in your heart language.
After church we went to a market to buy suveinirs. Most of the students really had fun, but I struggled with it. The sellers would give you a big price and then you would barter. I just had a hard time bartering with people who were starving. If I told them no thank you, they would say, “What is your offer?” If you walked away they would say things like, “Please Madame, look and offer. I need to buy food” or “Madame, business is slow, and I need to pay my space rent.” Now, in America this is often a business tactic, but many of these people were selling for someone else and really knew the meaning of hunger. I knew the patchwork purse offered had been stitched on a foot powered trendle machine. The going price? 15,000 k, or 3 U.S. dollars.
I began to get sick at the market and by Monday morning I was very sick. By night fall, I thought I was going to die. Not really, but close. Tuesday morning I went to the clinic, where I was admitted for dehydration and some bacteria thing. I about paniced when I saw the room, where three beds were placed. The bed was covered with something that looked like a blue checkered table cloth. The needle was new and wrapped. There was only one size so it was very painful as the nurse shoved it into the back of my hand. I noticed that my nurse did not wear gloves when she inflicted pain on my person. This really surprised me, especially in a country with a high HIV/AIDS rate. Patients’ families must bring in their food, which I had to smell when the lady next to me received her visitor. I survived the ordeal and am feeling much better. They took good care of me, and I saw my doctor about 8 times in that 8 hours.
As I type this, I am counting the weeks until I return home. I have 4 weeks from today of classes left, and will be home in 4.5 weeks. I am not anxious to leave behind the Zambian people or the friends I have made. I wish I could bring all of you here. Since I can’t, however, I am looking forward to being home. See you soon.
Monday, March 2, 2009
No internet
I am paying by the minute so this is just a notice not to worry about lack of info. Hopefully, I will be back to posting soon.
Miss you all so very much.
Me
Miss you all so very much.
Me
Monday, February 16, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
The Other Side of Life in Zambia
Just when I thought all the talk of the runs sickness was blown out of proportion, it hit. I guess being in another country for over a month and not getting sick is a blessing, but it is terrible to not be home and be miserable. I was in the corn fields learning to hoe a garden using a hoe that has a handle about the length of my arm when IT hit. I ran to the closest bathroom. I went back to the field and back to the nearest guest house. I gave up and walked to our guest house for the rest of the day. Our poor housekeeper, who I have come to love, was scared silly when I flew past her while she was sweeping. Did I mention the broom she uses is shorter than my arm?
Okay, so my first day in the cornfields was not a success, but I go back on Tuesday for a second chance. I also picked up a cold. I thought I brought every medicine known to man, but I didn't bring cough drops. Who would have thought that I would need cold medicine in the summer in Africa? :)
I did stay in the cornfields long enough to watch an amazing display of team work and skill. These women gather in great numbers. They only have about 6 tools between them. So the 6 will work and shortly they switch out and this repeats until all the rows are done. They must pile the dirt up as they hoe the ground so that the rains do not wash away the seeds. They toss that dirt as though it was nothing. Young and old bend over all day. Even if I had not been sick, I might have made it 30 minutes.
In case you still have misconceptions about reality here, let me be very specific. These people are not poor because they are lazy. I have never seen such hard work under such oppressive conditions. Well, time to go nurse my cold with ... water. Oh, I did find some peppermints in the bottom of my suitcase. Not sure, but I think I removed all the fuzz. Just kidding.
Miss everyone terribly,
Let the SonShine,
Melinda
Okay, so my first day in the cornfields was not a success, but I go back on Tuesday for a second chance. I also picked up a cold. I thought I brought every medicine known to man, but I didn't bring cough drops. Who would have thought that I would need cold medicine in the summer in Africa? :)
I did stay in the cornfields long enough to watch an amazing display of team work and skill. These women gather in great numbers. They only have about 6 tools between them. So the 6 will work and shortly they switch out and this repeats until all the rows are done. They must pile the dirt up as they hoe the ground so that the rains do not wash away the seeds. They toss that dirt as though it was nothing. Young and old bend over all day. Even if I had not been sick, I might have made it 30 minutes.
In case you still have misconceptions about reality here, let me be very specific. These people are not poor because they are lazy. I have never seen such hard work under such oppressive conditions. Well, time to go nurse my cold with ... water. Oh, I did find some peppermints in the bottom of my suitcase. Not sure, but I think I removed all the fuzz. Just kidding.
Miss everyone terribly,
Let the SonShine,
Melinda
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
What a Day!
Today I saw Africa the way it was meant to be seen. Not through windows of a Land Rover, but on the back of a motorbike. I arrived at the WHIZ office in a skirt prepared for a day of visiting schools. When the program director told Elijah and me that we would be taking the motorbikes I was thrilled. I walked fast to the guest house to change into “trousers” and tennis shoes. We had no riding pants, no mesh jackets, or boots. I did wear a long fleece jacket I brought with me, and we were provided helmets. I grabbed my sunglasses and lip gloss and was ready to roll.
We rode on dirt roads that looked like they had been bombed more than once. The first time we hit a dip going airborne, I was thrilled. There was no sissy bar, just a handle behind the back seat. I chose to place my hands on the waist of my driver, Paul. After all, he had the handlebars. He would be staying with the bike, and that sounded good to me.
The sky was a bright blue, and the clouds with their grey tummies looked low enough to touch. There were thick bushes with pink and orange flowers. Some of the bushes were a marriage of the two. Tall grass grew along the road and hit my knees when we rode the side tight to avoid a giant crater. Cows and bulls grazed on the side of the road, free from fences. At times we were so close I could have touched the tip of a horn. We shared the road with teams of oxen pulling wagons, women carrying large bags of corn meal on their heads, men taking the elderly to town on bicycles, and many children waving at the muguwa. This means white person. It is a title that brings excitement, not a racial commentary.
As we drew near the village schools the roads turned into narrow passages with occasional pools of water that had to be crossed. These men who visit schools every day to teach about abstinence and good choices have amazing riding skills. One of the motorbikes had a spark plug problem which left us in the middle of the bush for about an hour. We ate the peanut butter sandwiches I had prepared. It was a perfect meal in that tranquil setting. No one yelled, or worried about how late we would be. I prayed silently asking God to provide. A young man on a bicycle came our way and told our friends where a man lived who had a car. Perhaps he would have a spark plug. Claesha, the other rider, left on the good bike and came back with a tool that brought the machine to life again. Praise God.
While the bike was being worked on, the gentlemen let me drive one of the motorbikes down the dirt, gouged, sandy road for a short distance. It was more than I had hoped for. Unfortunately, while turning it around I killed the engine. Did I mention that the bike had to be “jump started?” I just couldn’t get it started. My left leg was too short for my right leg to jump hard enough to get it going. The guys came to my rescue and we were off again. We returned the tool to the man down the road. Of course we dismounted our new trusty transportation to greet him and be welcomed.
We visited two schools, and both had albino children. I wonder if there is something here that makes this more prevalent. As we drove into the schools the children would gather around to greet us. They do a little curtsey and put their left hand under their right forearm as a sign of respect to elders as they shake hands. It is a beautiful greeting. Then we greet each adult we meet, complete with introductions. No one is in a hurry to get down to business. It is that way everywhere we go. Paul and Claesha explained the program, and it was eagerly received. We will return on Thursday to meet the students and begin the program.
We finished the day by visiting a secondary school (high school) with the Reach 4 Life team. Henry, the staff member responsible for Reach 4 Life, had me speak to each class. When I spoke to the 11th graders they told me that they were studying sexuality. I asked them to tell me one thing they had learned in today’s lesson. One young man said, “Sex is bad.” I said, “In marriage?” He said, “No, before marriage.” We laughed and then I told them that sex outside of marriage is hurtful, but sex in marriage was wonderful. They giggled. I told them that Mike and I had been married for 26 years, and the girls smiled bigger and some clapped. I asked if they wanted to spend their whole lives with the same wonderful person, and they all said yes. I told them to complete their Reach 4 Life program, and do what it says so their dreams are more likely to come true. It was so wonderful to talk to them. I hope I get to do that again.
We rode home where I took 3 Tylenol for all the parts of my body that didn’t enjoy the ride as much as I did.
Love to all,
Let the SonShine,
Melinda
We rode on dirt roads that looked like they had been bombed more than once. The first time we hit a dip going airborne, I was thrilled. There was no sissy bar, just a handle behind the back seat. I chose to place my hands on the waist of my driver, Paul. After all, he had the handlebars. He would be staying with the bike, and that sounded good to me.
The sky was a bright blue, and the clouds with their grey tummies looked low enough to touch. There were thick bushes with pink and orange flowers. Some of the bushes were a marriage of the two. Tall grass grew along the road and hit my knees when we rode the side tight to avoid a giant crater. Cows and bulls grazed on the side of the road, free from fences. At times we were so close I could have touched the tip of a horn. We shared the road with teams of oxen pulling wagons, women carrying large bags of corn meal on their heads, men taking the elderly to town on bicycles, and many children waving at the muguwa. This means white person. It is a title that brings excitement, not a racial commentary.
As we drew near the village schools the roads turned into narrow passages with occasional pools of water that had to be crossed. These men who visit schools every day to teach about abstinence and good choices have amazing riding skills. One of the motorbikes had a spark plug problem which left us in the middle of the bush for about an hour. We ate the peanut butter sandwiches I had prepared. It was a perfect meal in that tranquil setting. No one yelled, or worried about how late we would be. I prayed silently asking God to provide. A young man on a bicycle came our way and told our friends where a man lived who had a car. Perhaps he would have a spark plug. Claesha, the other rider, left on the good bike and came back with a tool that brought the machine to life again. Praise God.
While the bike was being worked on, the gentlemen let me drive one of the motorbikes down the dirt, gouged, sandy road for a short distance. It was more than I had hoped for. Unfortunately, while turning it around I killed the engine. Did I mention that the bike had to be “jump started?” I just couldn’t get it started. My left leg was too short for my right leg to jump hard enough to get it going. The guys came to my rescue and we were off again. We returned the tool to the man down the road. Of course we dismounted our new trusty transportation to greet him and be welcomed.
We visited two schools, and both had albino children. I wonder if there is something here that makes this more prevalent. As we drove into the schools the children would gather around to greet us. They do a little curtsey and put their left hand under their right forearm as a sign of respect to elders as they shake hands. It is a beautiful greeting. Then we greet each adult we meet, complete with introductions. No one is in a hurry to get down to business. It is that way everywhere we go. Paul and Claesha explained the program, and it was eagerly received. We will return on Thursday to meet the students and begin the program.
We finished the day by visiting a secondary school (high school) with the Reach 4 Life team. Henry, the staff member responsible for Reach 4 Life, had me speak to each class. When I spoke to the 11th graders they told me that they were studying sexuality. I asked them to tell me one thing they had learned in today’s lesson. One young man said, “Sex is bad.” I said, “In marriage?” He said, “No, before marriage.” We laughed and then I told them that sex outside of marriage is hurtful, but sex in marriage was wonderful. They giggled. I told them that Mike and I had been married for 26 years, and the girls smiled bigger and some clapped. I asked if they wanted to spend their whole lives with the same wonderful person, and they all said yes. I told them to complete their Reach 4 Life program, and do what it says so their dreams are more likely to come true. It was so wonderful to talk to them. I hope I get to do that again.
We rode home where I took 3 Tylenol for all the parts of my body that didn’t enjoy the ride as much as I did.
Love to all,
Let the SonShine,
Melinda
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Zambia Children and Education (sort of)
In America school attendance is a right. If parents do not educate their children they can be prosecuted or have their children placed in the care of the state. In Zambia, however, there are no such rights. While education is free, parents must pay for a uniform and supplies. If you are making a dollar a day, this may be impossible. Parents are forced to choose between starvation and education.
This week I worked with the Reach 4 Life team. It is a Christian abstinence program. It also teaches life skills, leadership, and skills in decision making. The staff train student leaders, chosen by the school, and they facilitate the meetings. Once the students graduate school and return to their villages, it is the hope that they will teach other children what they have learned. The goal is to have programs all over Zambia. This program is in government run schools as well as Christian schools. This program is run without U.S. Aid. The reason, as you might guess, is that our government will not allow funds to be used for this program because it has a Christian foundation. That means all support must be raised by private donors. They have more requests for the manuals the students use than they can provide for. With more funding there would be programs in the villages where many children do not go to school. The question I ask myself is why would our government care when the government here does not care? Young people in Zambia have HIV/AIDS at an alarming and unbelievable rate.
I met a group of Reach 4 Life Ambassadors. These are young adults who have completed their education and the program and are now mentoring the next group of student leaders. I asked them what their hopes and dreams are, for not every Zambian youth has hopes beyond providing basic needs. Each of the twelve young people had a dream. One wanted to be a pastor, one a nurse, one an accountant, one to see the end of AIDS in his life time, and the list goes on. When I asked what they were doing to reach those dreams, only a few could answer. Very few children go on to college or a university. In an area where girls routinely get engaged or married at the age of 15 or 16, not one of these students was married, engaged, or had children. This program is helping them believe they can have more in life than waiting for the HIV virus to destroy them. Is it fair for us to give them a dream and not give them a way to realize it? Is it possible, that as I type this, the illusive cure for AIDS is in the mind of a student sitting in a Reach 4 Life meeting right here in Zambia?
I will end this entry with a common story in Zambia. Many girls who desperately want to go to school, but do not have the money will often sell themselves to earn enough to attend. They will have a “sugar daddy.” We laugh about this phrase in the U.S. but it is not funny here. I read a testimony from one student who had been raped at a very young age. She felt worthless and condemned to a life of prostitution. She made enough to attend school and began the Reach 4 Life program. They taught her the concept of 2nd virginity, a vow to keep sex from this point on until marriage. She was given hope in Christ that she was important to Him and that her life mattered.
Children should never have to sell their bodies to have the opportunity to attend school. I could not help contrast this reality with ours in America. I have spent eighteen years working with young people who cannot wait until they get out of high school. Many of them do not even finish their education. My first thought was to bring all my foster children to Zambia for a few months. This almost caused me to smile thinking of our girls surviving here with so little. Then my second thought hit me with a sobering force. Our children have also been sold, and they have sold themselves. Every time a judge sends them home before they graduate, where failure is almost certain, we have sold them to a life lived out in poverty and despair. When over half of the girls get pregnant with in one year of leaving state custody, they have sold themselves for free. When we fail to help them dream, we have invited them to continue the same cycle of abuse and poverty that put them in the care of the state to begin with. We tell an 18 year old good luck, hope you make it, and when they fail we point at them and say, “I knew you would.” It is the worst sell of human potential, and we do not accept responsibility for it.
It is so easy to come to Zambia and see the suffering and great needs. It is every where I turn. It is ugly and so big you can not hide from it. You can not pretend it doesn’t exist. I wonder, however, how many times we have been willing to send a donation to another country, but ignore the suffering in our own cities or even the needs of our neighbors. Do we offer hospitality to those who are different than us? Don’t get me wrong, we need to give our money, but we also need to give of ourselves. The Bible is clear in both the Old and New Testament. If we do not take care of the poor, widows, and orphans, He does not honor our offerings.
On a lighter note:
I am eating puppy chow one of the girls on the team made. It is made with corn flakes. In Zambia, you use what you have. It isn’t bad. It’s a little chewy. We have also discovered a new level of cleanliness. Laundry takes so long to do that we measure if something is appropriate to wear, not by how many times it has been worn, but by how bad it smells. We have also grown accustom to Cheech and Chong, our roaches who live in the kitchen.
Last night the power went out all around us. This happens often, but usually during the day. We were right in the middle of prayer. We got candles, finished our prayer time and then headed outside. The sky was blazing with stars. I have never seen so many. I guess the great thing about being the “dark continent” is that you can see so many stars. We girls had girls only time. We spread blankets under the stars in the yard and talked about things that girls talk about, like marriage. We saw a few shooting stars too. I have said many times, “Never miss an opportunity to look at the stars.” Until the lights came on, I was having so much fun. I was not 46 years old and they were not 20 years old. We were just women spending time together. Of course the romance of the evening was clouded this morning when I woke up with bug bites on my arms and legs, and even one down my shirt. It seems that the bugs live in the grass and they appear to have been hungry last night.
I still have not seen a snake, a fact I thank God for on a regular basis. One last thing, I was in Livingstone this week with the Reach 4 Life staff. We stopped to have lunch and I ate at Subway. I was so excited at the thought of having a vegetarian sandwich, all those green vegetables that I have missed. Let’s just say eating Subway in Zambia is a little different than in America. My team member that was with me was brave enough to eat caterpillars, a great source of protein in parts of Zambia. That was just gross to watch.
Let the SonShine,
Melinda
This week I worked with the Reach 4 Life team. It is a Christian abstinence program. It also teaches life skills, leadership, and skills in decision making. The staff train student leaders, chosen by the school, and they facilitate the meetings. Once the students graduate school and return to their villages, it is the hope that they will teach other children what they have learned. The goal is to have programs all over Zambia. This program is in government run schools as well as Christian schools. This program is run without U.S. Aid. The reason, as you might guess, is that our government will not allow funds to be used for this program because it has a Christian foundation. That means all support must be raised by private donors. They have more requests for the manuals the students use than they can provide for. With more funding there would be programs in the villages where many children do not go to school. The question I ask myself is why would our government care when the government here does not care? Young people in Zambia have HIV/AIDS at an alarming and unbelievable rate.
I met a group of Reach 4 Life Ambassadors. These are young adults who have completed their education and the program and are now mentoring the next group of student leaders. I asked them what their hopes and dreams are, for not every Zambian youth has hopes beyond providing basic needs. Each of the twelve young people had a dream. One wanted to be a pastor, one a nurse, one an accountant, one to see the end of AIDS in his life time, and the list goes on. When I asked what they were doing to reach those dreams, only a few could answer. Very few children go on to college or a university. In an area where girls routinely get engaged or married at the age of 15 or 16, not one of these students was married, engaged, or had children. This program is helping them believe they can have more in life than waiting for the HIV virus to destroy them. Is it fair for us to give them a dream and not give them a way to realize it? Is it possible, that as I type this, the illusive cure for AIDS is in the mind of a student sitting in a Reach 4 Life meeting right here in Zambia?
I will end this entry with a common story in Zambia. Many girls who desperately want to go to school, but do not have the money will often sell themselves to earn enough to attend. They will have a “sugar daddy.” We laugh about this phrase in the U.S. but it is not funny here. I read a testimony from one student who had been raped at a very young age. She felt worthless and condemned to a life of prostitution. She made enough to attend school and began the Reach 4 Life program. They taught her the concept of 2nd virginity, a vow to keep sex from this point on until marriage. She was given hope in Christ that she was important to Him and that her life mattered.
Children should never have to sell their bodies to have the opportunity to attend school. I could not help contrast this reality with ours in America. I have spent eighteen years working with young people who cannot wait until they get out of high school. Many of them do not even finish their education. My first thought was to bring all my foster children to Zambia for a few months. This almost caused me to smile thinking of our girls surviving here with so little. Then my second thought hit me with a sobering force. Our children have also been sold, and they have sold themselves. Every time a judge sends them home before they graduate, where failure is almost certain, we have sold them to a life lived out in poverty and despair. When over half of the girls get pregnant with in one year of leaving state custody, they have sold themselves for free. When we fail to help them dream, we have invited them to continue the same cycle of abuse and poverty that put them in the care of the state to begin with. We tell an 18 year old good luck, hope you make it, and when they fail we point at them and say, “I knew you would.” It is the worst sell of human potential, and we do not accept responsibility for it.
It is so easy to come to Zambia and see the suffering and great needs. It is every where I turn. It is ugly and so big you can not hide from it. You can not pretend it doesn’t exist. I wonder, however, how many times we have been willing to send a donation to another country, but ignore the suffering in our own cities or even the needs of our neighbors. Do we offer hospitality to those who are different than us? Don’t get me wrong, we need to give our money, but we also need to give of ourselves. The Bible is clear in both the Old and New Testament. If we do not take care of the poor, widows, and orphans, He does not honor our offerings.
On a lighter note:
I am eating puppy chow one of the girls on the team made. It is made with corn flakes. In Zambia, you use what you have. It isn’t bad. It’s a little chewy. We have also discovered a new level of cleanliness. Laundry takes so long to do that we measure if something is appropriate to wear, not by how many times it has been worn, but by how bad it smells. We have also grown accustom to Cheech and Chong, our roaches who live in the kitchen.
Last night the power went out all around us. This happens often, but usually during the day. We were right in the middle of prayer. We got candles, finished our prayer time and then headed outside. The sky was blazing with stars. I have never seen so many. I guess the great thing about being the “dark continent” is that you can see so many stars. We girls had girls only time. We spread blankets under the stars in the yard and talked about things that girls talk about, like marriage. We saw a few shooting stars too. I have said many times, “Never miss an opportunity to look at the stars.” Until the lights came on, I was having so much fun. I was not 46 years old and they were not 20 years old. We were just women spending time together. Of course the romance of the evening was clouded this morning when I woke up with bug bites on my arms and legs, and even one down my shirt. It seems that the bugs live in the grass and they appear to have been hungry last night.
I still have not seen a snake, a fact I thank God for on a regular basis. One last thing, I was in Livingstone this week with the Reach 4 Life staff. We stopped to have lunch and I ate at Subway. I was so excited at the thought of having a vegetarian sandwich, all those green vegetables that I have missed. Let’s just say eating Subway in Zambia is a little different than in America. My team member that was with me was brave enough to eat caterpillars, a great source of protein in parts of Zambia. That was just gross to watch.
Let the SonShine,
Melinda
Monday, January 26, 2009
Quiet Moments
Friday we worked at the new WHIZ office and guest house that is being built so teams will have a place to stay. It was fun to meet some of the construction workers. They are building this beautiful and large facility with all hand tools. It is amazing to see. They are very talented. It would frustrate you men in moments. They can't just run down to the Lowe's and pick up supplies either.
We spent the rest of the weekend either studying, doing laundry by hand, or going to church. Today is a catch up day for all our work and I decided to start the day emailing Mike, who I miss more than I have words for. I miss being able to call my son and daughter anytime I want. I know contact would be minimum, but had no idea how hard that would be. Last night I couldn't get on the internet, which I had not been on for a few days, and I walked home crying. It was pouring rain. The water was seeping up my long skirt, and I didn't care. It matched my mood. Today, I had internet and could read email from Mike and all the posts from you, and I felt much better. Thank you for taking the time to leave comments. They mean so much to me. Miss you all.
Let the SonShine,
Melinda
We spent the rest of the weekend either studying, doing laundry by hand, or going to church. Today is a catch up day for all our work and I decided to start the day emailing Mike, who I miss more than I have words for. I miss being able to call my son and daughter anytime I want. I know contact would be minimum, but had no idea how hard that would be. Last night I couldn't get on the internet, which I had not been on for a few days, and I walked home crying. It was pouring rain. The water was seeping up my long skirt, and I didn't care. It matched my mood. Today, I had internet and could read email from Mike and all the posts from you, and I felt much better. Thank you for taking the time to leave comments. They mean so much to me. Miss you all.
Let the SonShine,
Melinda
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Thursday Visits
Thursday January 22, 2009
Today we started out in a fairly comfy bus headed to a village to work and eat along side our new Zambian friends. The roads were rough and wet. The closer we got, the worse the road became. Finally, the bus could not tackle the next swimming pool in the middle of the road. A Land Rover swam by, stopped on the other side of the pool and took us in 2 loads to the village. When we pulled up the village was there to clap and cheer for our arrival. We are having the hardest time being served so warmly. We feel we have so little to give. We were told tonight that the Zambians have a saying, “It is better to receive a guest than to have gold.” Moreen, the WHIZ staff working with us, and our friend, said that anyone can give money, but for us to come to Zambia gives encouragement. That is why we are treated so well.
The women, including me, stood in a long line from a building to a new piggery being built. Bricks were passed like a bucket brigade. I’m sore, and I didn’t do it with a baby on my back. One woman had a bare breast so that her baby could get milk while she passed bricks. These women are amazing. I should mention that the men stood by and watched.
Other women were cooking the goat, chicken, cabbage, and shema. Everything was prepared outside, flies and all. It is one of those times that you pray, “Lord, protect me from what I am about to eat.” I have to say, the food was wonderful.
After we ate, we climbed back into the Land Rovers and bounced to the middle of nowhere. Even the bad roads had disappeared. Just like always, a few small huts came into view. We were each greeted individually, as is the custom, and offered a very small stool or a place on the make shift mat. We met a little girl, age 7. She has T.B. and they are waiting for the results of her HIV tests. We listened as the WHIZ staff asked questions to check on this little angel’s health. I was allowed to ask a few questions. Does she have siblings? Is there a father in the house? Someone asked if she was attending school? I could not, however, ask the one question I really wanted to ask the mother. How are you coping, and are you afraid? These would be inappropriate questions in a place that must cope. We prayed for the family as we left and presented them with our gift of corn meal and sugar.
As I turned to walk away, I realized that I was having a hard time breathing. Not from sickness or asthma, but because that child may not live to be a troublesome adolescent. I could not breath because she was only 7, and hungry, and sick, and sad. She was not in a hospital bed, but sleeps on a dirt floor each night. As we walked through the corn towards our Land Rover, I wanted to cry to relieve this miserable feeling, but tears would not come. It was if the tears were in my throat blocking off a large percentage of my air.
Our next visit was with two children that lived with their mother. The mom had just come back from the hospital 3 weeks ago because she hemoraged after losing her third child. Her husband died recently also. They are without food. They have only one blanket between them because she wrapped her dead child in the only thing she had to give her. The worker brought us to this family because she thought we might encourage her. She hoped our visit would help the mother get well faster. I told her I was sorry that she had lost her baby. After meeting her two other children, I told her they were beautiful. I asked if the hospital had given her medicine to bring home or vitamins, since she had lost so much blood and was experiencing dizzy spells. The interpreter did not give me her answer. I think she was too upset with the response. We prayed for this family and presented them with a large bag of corn meal and sugar.
I wish I had some funny story to end with today, but there just isn’t one. Hug your children and grandchildren, and thank God that tonight they will sleep on a mattress under warm blankets with full tummys.
Today we started out in a fairly comfy bus headed to a village to work and eat along side our new Zambian friends. The roads were rough and wet. The closer we got, the worse the road became. Finally, the bus could not tackle the next swimming pool in the middle of the road. A Land Rover swam by, stopped on the other side of the pool and took us in 2 loads to the village. When we pulled up the village was there to clap and cheer for our arrival. We are having the hardest time being served so warmly. We feel we have so little to give. We were told tonight that the Zambians have a saying, “It is better to receive a guest than to have gold.” Moreen, the WHIZ staff working with us, and our friend, said that anyone can give money, but for us to come to Zambia gives encouragement. That is why we are treated so well.
The women, including me, stood in a long line from a building to a new piggery being built. Bricks were passed like a bucket brigade. I’m sore, and I didn’t do it with a baby on my back. One woman had a bare breast so that her baby could get milk while she passed bricks. These women are amazing. I should mention that the men stood by and watched.
Other women were cooking the goat, chicken, cabbage, and shema. Everything was prepared outside, flies and all. It is one of those times that you pray, “Lord, protect me from what I am about to eat.” I have to say, the food was wonderful.
After we ate, we climbed back into the Land Rovers and bounced to the middle of nowhere. Even the bad roads had disappeared. Just like always, a few small huts came into view. We were each greeted individually, as is the custom, and offered a very small stool or a place on the make shift mat. We met a little girl, age 7. She has T.B. and they are waiting for the results of her HIV tests. We listened as the WHIZ staff asked questions to check on this little angel’s health. I was allowed to ask a few questions. Does she have siblings? Is there a father in the house? Someone asked if she was attending school? I could not, however, ask the one question I really wanted to ask the mother. How are you coping, and are you afraid? These would be inappropriate questions in a place that must cope. We prayed for the family as we left and presented them with our gift of corn meal and sugar.
As I turned to walk away, I realized that I was having a hard time breathing. Not from sickness or asthma, but because that child may not live to be a troublesome adolescent. I could not breath because she was only 7, and hungry, and sick, and sad. She was not in a hospital bed, but sleeps on a dirt floor each night. As we walked through the corn towards our Land Rover, I wanted to cry to relieve this miserable feeling, but tears would not come. It was if the tears were in my throat blocking off a large percentage of my air.
Our next visit was with two children that lived with their mother. The mom had just come back from the hospital 3 weeks ago because she hemoraged after losing her third child. Her husband died recently also. They are without food. They have only one blanket between them because she wrapped her dead child in the only thing she had to give her. The worker brought us to this family because she thought we might encourage her. She hoped our visit would help the mother get well faster. I told her I was sorry that she had lost her baby. After meeting her two other children, I told her they were beautiful. I asked if the hospital had given her medicine to bring home or vitamins, since she had lost so much blood and was experiencing dizzy spells. The interpreter did not give me her answer. I think she was too upset with the response. We prayed for this family and presented them with a large bag of corn meal and sugar.
I wish I had some funny story to end with today, but there just isn’t one. Hug your children and grandchildren, and thank God that tonight they will sleep on a mattress under warm blankets with full tummys.
Visiting HIV/AIDs Clients
We sat in a small brick building, shorter than me and about the size of my bathroom. The hostess brought out all the chairs she owned from her tiny hut and placed both of them in the dim cubby hole. For everyone else, a corn meal bag had been split down the seam and laid flat. This served as a mat. Not much is wasted or thrown away here. A young woman, only 22 years old, was lead by the hand and told to take her place on the bag with the rest of our team. Since I am the oldest team member, I was given a chair. Age does have its rewards here in Zambia. Her mother joined us. We were told the client’s name, but I will call her Janet, because she has so little dignity to spare. Janet’s story is a common one here in Zambia. She was married very young, perhaps only 15. She had a baby who died shortly after birth. She gave birth to a second and then a third child. Soon after the birth of her third daughter, she tested positive for HIV/AIDS. Her husband divorced her as soon as he found out, a common practice here. He was now free to take another wife. To answer the question that came quickly to my mind, and probably yours, no, he was not tested. Zambia ended mandatory testing some time back, and the people do not want to know their status for fear of becoming an outcast. Many do not get tested until they are so sick that they must go to a hospital. By the time they know their status, the ARV drugs are not as helpful. The earlier an HIV/AIDS patient begins these treatments the better the quality of life. Remember, AIDS does not kill a person. Their bodies cannot fight off the diseases they get and the sickness kills them. In a country full of disease, the life expectancy of an AIDS client is much shorter then in the U.S. Hospitals have few beds and are far away from many of the villages.
At the end of our visit, Janet’s two girls were brought in to meet us. One of these girls is already very sick, probably positive also. She has not been tested. In my mind I am screaming, “Why on earth not?” Since this option is not allowed, I pulled out my Bible and read Psalm 139: 1-16. God gave me the passage that morning for the clients I would see. You may read it for yourself. As you read it, try to put yourself in the position of this young mother, who sang in the church choir and loves her God very much. A woman who had hopes and dreams of watching her girls marry some fine young Zambian man who worked hard and was disease free. A young woman who has never been allowed to hold her grief out for all her friends and family to see. She does not speak now or care for her children. She knows she is dying and that it is possible that she will live just long enough to see one of her children go to God before her.
For those of you who are asking how she contracted HIV, I have one question. Does the answer affect your level of compassion? It would not, if you were here and looked into the faces of those who suffer, or fear they will be next. For those who think morality is the only problem, you have not seen the poverty, starvation, and lack of hope that exists everywhere you gaze.
The next client was a male, and his spouse has divorced him also. He shared his story openly. After I read him the Psalm, he was asked how we could pray for him. He looked me in the eyes and said, “Pray that God will encourage me. I need encouragement.” Then he told us he had no Bible and could really use one. He received a Bible today.
On the lighter side of things
There is no brewed coffee here. I am adjusting to instant. It is strong and not half bad. The water pot boils in about 3 mins. It is awesome. Watch out Starbucks!
We visited another community trust (village) today. It rained all the day before, at night, and the day of our journey. We experienced Africa today. We had to turn the bus around and get a couple of Land Rovers. We were squished in, making us realize the width of our hips. Many of the roads were washed out. The pot holes here could swallow the pot holes and the roads back home. Sometimes the people throw bricks or tree limbs, whatever they can find, in the deeper holes. You can’t drive over them, but people don’t fall in them either.
At one point in our expedition, a bridge was washed out. You could not see a bridge. We all thought we would be turning around and heading back to the guest house. Wrong! The drivers walked to the edge of the water, studied the crossing, chatted about it, and then put those Land Rovers in 4 wheel drive. The staff member in the back of the vehicle yelled words in Tonga to the driver as we slowly drove across the “bridge.” Apparently, they knew from watching the current where the bridge was. Our WHIZ hostess sat in the front seat praying silently, and the WHIZ staff next to me was holding on tight to the door hoping to see her husband again. She is a new staff person, and we had a great time laughing at her. I was somewhere in the middle of fear and excitement. For those family members freaking out right now, let me assure you that the drivers would never really put us in danger. They are amazing drivers and men of God.
The WHIZ staff in the back of our Land Rover had traveled the road that morning on a motorbike (a cross between motorcycle and dirt bike). If you could see the road you would not believe it.
I asked this staff member if he had special pants to go over his pants, to keep the mud and water off as he rode his motorbike. After all, I have riding pants. He gave me a strange look so I repeated the question using my hands this time. He then said no, only a jacket. One of my team members leaned over to remind me that “pants” means underwear in Zambia. I was going to try and fix it, but decided leaving it alone was better. My friend and I had a good laugh about it later. Zambians are very polite and would never correct you. If you are laughing right now, go ahead and laugh at my expense.
By the time we had been bounced for an hour and had ridden through a lot of water, we girls had to go potty. Now where is the outhouse? No outhouse, not even a large tree. We had to go out into the cornfield, take off our shatangas (skirt like wraps), and form a privacy circle. I am not kidding. Just to make things interesting, I should mention that when Maguas (white people) come into the area, all the children gather around to visit. What I want to know is where did all those children come from in the middle of nowhere? WARNING: If you are drinking something while reading this you may want to swallow before continuing. My legs and knees were so stiff from the ride and bouncing, not to mention my broken tail bone was complaining that when I was finished with my turn in the circle I couldn’t get back up. One of the girls holding a wrap was yelling because the bugs were biting her legs. I told her I didn’t care what bit her, she had better not drop that wrap! I finally realized I had two options. One, I could sit down and then get up, that would be disgusting, so I choose option two. I pulled up from my squat using one of the girl’s backside. If you just spit all over yourself, you only have yourself to blame. I warned you.
At the end of our visit, Janet’s two girls were brought in to meet us. One of these girls is already very sick, probably positive also. She has not been tested. In my mind I am screaming, “Why on earth not?” Since this option is not allowed, I pulled out my Bible and read Psalm 139: 1-16. God gave me the passage that morning for the clients I would see. You may read it for yourself. As you read it, try to put yourself in the position of this young mother, who sang in the church choir and loves her God very much. A woman who had hopes and dreams of watching her girls marry some fine young Zambian man who worked hard and was disease free. A young woman who has never been allowed to hold her grief out for all her friends and family to see. She does not speak now or care for her children. She knows she is dying and that it is possible that she will live just long enough to see one of her children go to God before her.
For those of you who are asking how she contracted HIV, I have one question. Does the answer affect your level of compassion? It would not, if you were here and looked into the faces of those who suffer, or fear they will be next. For those who think morality is the only problem, you have not seen the poverty, starvation, and lack of hope that exists everywhere you gaze.
The next client was a male, and his spouse has divorced him also. He shared his story openly. After I read him the Psalm, he was asked how we could pray for him. He looked me in the eyes and said, “Pray that God will encourage me. I need encouragement.” Then he told us he had no Bible and could really use one. He received a Bible today.
On the lighter side of things
There is no brewed coffee here. I am adjusting to instant. It is strong and not half bad. The water pot boils in about 3 mins. It is awesome. Watch out Starbucks!
We visited another community trust (village) today. It rained all the day before, at night, and the day of our journey. We experienced Africa today. We had to turn the bus around and get a couple of Land Rovers. We were squished in, making us realize the width of our hips. Many of the roads were washed out. The pot holes here could swallow the pot holes and the roads back home. Sometimes the people throw bricks or tree limbs, whatever they can find, in the deeper holes. You can’t drive over them, but people don’t fall in them either.
At one point in our expedition, a bridge was washed out. You could not see a bridge. We all thought we would be turning around and heading back to the guest house. Wrong! The drivers walked to the edge of the water, studied the crossing, chatted about it, and then put those Land Rovers in 4 wheel drive. The staff member in the back of the vehicle yelled words in Tonga to the driver as we slowly drove across the “bridge.” Apparently, they knew from watching the current where the bridge was. Our WHIZ hostess sat in the front seat praying silently, and the WHIZ staff next to me was holding on tight to the door hoping to see her husband again. She is a new staff person, and we had a great time laughing at her. I was somewhere in the middle of fear and excitement. For those family members freaking out right now, let me assure you that the drivers would never really put us in danger. They are amazing drivers and men of God.
The WHIZ staff in the back of our Land Rover had traveled the road that morning on a motorbike (a cross between motorcycle and dirt bike). If you could see the road you would not believe it.
I asked this staff member if he had special pants to go over his pants, to keep the mud and water off as he rode his motorbike. After all, I have riding pants. He gave me a strange look so I repeated the question using my hands this time. He then said no, only a jacket. One of my team members leaned over to remind me that “pants” means underwear in Zambia. I was going to try and fix it, but decided leaving it alone was better. My friend and I had a good laugh about it later. Zambians are very polite and would never correct you. If you are laughing right now, go ahead and laugh at my expense.
By the time we had been bounced for an hour and had ridden through a lot of water, we girls had to go potty. Now where is the outhouse? No outhouse, not even a large tree. We had to go out into the cornfield, take off our shatangas (skirt like wraps), and form a privacy circle. I am not kidding. Just to make things interesting, I should mention that when Maguas (white people) come into the area, all the children gather around to visit. What I want to know is where did all those children come from in the middle of nowhere? WARNING: If you are drinking something while reading this you may want to swallow before continuing. My legs and knees were so stiff from the ride and bouncing, not to mention my broken tail bone was complaining that when I was finished with my turn in the circle I couldn’t get back up. One of the girls holding a wrap was yelling because the bugs were biting her legs. I told her I didn’t care what bit her, she had better not drop that wrap! I finally realized I had two options. One, I could sit down and then get up, that would be disgusting, so I choose option two. I pulled up from my squat using one of the girl’s backside. If you just spit all over yourself, you only have yourself to blame. I warned you.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Ladies in one of the trust.
Don't laugh at me. I was trying to lean back so all the ladies would be in the picture.Challenges and Important Lessons: Week One
We are in a 3 bedroom house with one shower. There are 14 of us. Everyone is 21 or below … except for me (don’t ask). It is a constant place of motion and volume. So where does one study who must have quiet to read a book entitled, The Pedagogy of the Oppressed? I tried sitting on my bed, but I fell asleep. I have noticed that everyone is getting quieter as assignment deadlines approach, so there is hope. We are settling into a routine.
I have to say that everyone is pitching in and helping out where needed. I have watched students share their small stock of special shampoo or soap, knowing they can’t replace it when it is gone. I have shared my priceless medicine cabinet of ointments and Pepto Bismol. This would include the medicated baby powder that is great for that rash you get on the thighs from wearing skirts in hot, humid weather.
We are learning to wash clothes by hand. Notice I say “learning.” Our first lesson was that soap here is very concentrated. When you use too much, it takes a really, really long time to rinse it all out. It was easier to just wear them with soap in them. If we get caught in the rain, which is a strong possibility, we will leave bubbles wherever we go. The children will love it. We also learned that things do not dry quickly in the rainy season, so wash only ½ your clothes at a time. Finally, you just have to deal with your under things blowing in the wind for all the world to see.
We have also discovered what it feels like to live one week with NO money. We haven’t shopped or had the ability to fill even the basic of needs or to put offering in the church plate. When you are not in charge of the schedule, have no transportation, or any say on the rules, you have to do what you are told. This has probably been the greatest challenge for me, so little control over me. Today I really looked at my frustration and realized it was a helpless feeling. This must be how so many Africans feel every day of their lives. It must be frustrating to have a store, but no money for bread. To have roads, and no way to get to a hospital. To have access to ARVs, but no money to pay someone to take you the long way to the clinic.
To end on a lighter note, our last lesson is to always, always, carry toilet paper with us wherever we go! I miss all of you very much and wish you could be here with me, because I do not wish to be there with you in -20 degree temps. Love, Melinda
I have to say that everyone is pitching in and helping out where needed. I have watched students share their small stock of special shampoo or soap, knowing they can’t replace it when it is gone. I have shared my priceless medicine cabinet of ointments and Pepto Bismol. This would include the medicated baby powder that is great for that rash you get on the thighs from wearing skirts in hot, humid weather.
We are learning to wash clothes by hand. Notice I say “learning.” Our first lesson was that soap here is very concentrated. When you use too much, it takes a really, really long time to rinse it all out. It was easier to just wear them with soap in them. If we get caught in the rain, which is a strong possibility, we will leave bubbles wherever we go. The children will love it. We also learned that things do not dry quickly in the rainy season, so wash only ½ your clothes at a time. Finally, you just have to deal with your under things blowing in the wind for all the world to see.
We have also discovered what it feels like to live one week with NO money. We haven’t shopped or had the ability to fill even the basic of needs or to put offering in the church plate. When you are not in charge of the schedule, have no transportation, or any say on the rules, you have to do what you are told. This has probably been the greatest challenge for me, so little control over me. Today I really looked at my frustration and realized it was a helpless feeling. This must be how so many Africans feel every day of their lives. It must be frustrating to have a store, but no money for bread. To have roads, and no way to get to a hospital. To have access to ARVs, but no money to pay someone to take you the long way to the clinic.
To end on a lighter note, our last lesson is to always, always, carry toilet paper with us wherever we go! I miss all of you very much and wish you could be here with me, because I do not wish to be there with you in -20 degree temps. Love, Melinda
Today's Lecture
Today we attended a lecture presented by a professor at the university in Lusaka. He lectured on community planning in Zambia. If I had to give you only one point that meant the most to me it would be the following: Change is hard for all of us. If we are to be agents of change, the community must own the change. We can not build a school and give it to them. We can not be the boss, we must be equals. We must work along side them in building the school. Sometimes it means helping them learn how to take care of chickens so they can build the school themselves. This brings dignity.
Friday, January 16, 2009
We have arrived in Zambia!
We arrived in Zambia weary, but excited. The bus ride to Choma was a bumpy one. I wanted to close my eyes, but I was afraid I would miss something. The road was lined with women, men, and children who were selling coal, corn, or corn meal. Many women were selling themselves in order to survive. This has given the road the nickname "AIDS Highway." This is the only road for carrying goods into Choma and other cities in the southern part of Zambia.
We arrived late Saturday night and worship on Sunday. They sang a song in English for us, but most was in Tonga. While I couldn't understand a word, I felt included in spirit. I want to sing in a choir just like that in Heaven. At the end of the service we filed out one roll at a time. Outside the church building people got in a roll. As you come out the door you shake each person's hand and give a traditional greeting, which is returned. At the end of the line, you take your place and wait for everyone to leave. It was amazing. I met the whole church.
Most of the week we spent in classes getting to know all the programs here. They are extensive and exciting. I will post more later. Yesterday we went into a community trust (village). You will learn more about this later also. I have to tell you about a few things that happened now, while it is still fresh in my mind.
A woman with a child at her breast came to me. I couldn't understand what she wanted. She held the baby and said, "She needs you" followed by more words I could not understand. I was heart broken because I could not fill her request. I finally placed my hand on the child's head and blessed and prayer for the girl. The mother relaxed and sat down with the other women. I pray that God gives this mother the request. I was told that the child was probably sick. Because many of the people believe in the power of prayer, she was content with what I had to offer.
While I sat with some women, an older woman, came and asked my age. I told her 46 and she told me she was 56. All the women began to clap and shout. They were celebrating the woman's senior age. Not many people here see 56 years. I celebrated with them while my soul was somber.
It seems that the needs are so simple, but you don't have to be here long to understand there are no simple solutions.
We arrived late Saturday night and worship on Sunday. They sang a song in English for us, but most was in Tonga. While I couldn't understand a word, I felt included in spirit. I want to sing in a choir just like that in Heaven. At the end of the service we filed out one roll at a time. Outside the church building people got in a roll. As you come out the door you shake each person's hand and give a traditional greeting, which is returned. At the end of the line, you take your place and wait for everyone to leave. It was amazing. I met the whole church.
Most of the week we spent in classes getting to know all the programs here. They are extensive and exciting. I will post more later. Yesterday we went into a community trust (village). You will learn more about this later also. I have to tell you about a few things that happened now, while it is still fresh in my mind.
A woman with a child at her breast came to me. I couldn't understand what she wanted. She held the baby and said, "She needs you" followed by more words I could not understand. I was heart broken because I could not fill her request. I finally placed my hand on the child's head and blessed and prayer for the girl. The mother relaxed and sat down with the other women. I pray that God gives this mother the request. I was told that the child was probably sick. Because many of the people believe in the power of prayer, she was content with what I had to offer.
While I sat with some women, an older woman, came and asked my age. I told her 46 and she told me she was 56. All the women began to clap and shout. They were celebrating the woman's senior age. Not many people here see 56 years. I celebrated with them while my soul was somber.
It seems that the needs are so simple, but you don't have to be here long to understand there are no simple solutions.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
1 week to go
One week from now I will be on my way to Zambia. So a little case of nerves settling in. Leaving Mike, home, my bed, my bathroom! I don't want to see a snake or a giant spider. I spent an hour in Wal-mart buying over the counter medicines, Pepto, anti-itch and anti-bacterial ointment, travel iron with dual wattage, sunscreen and bug spray. I'm 145.00 poorer. Am I still excited? Yes!
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