The Holidays

It’s been a while, I know. But silence by no means signifies inactivity or loss of inspiration. In fact, it often means rather the opposite for me. It’s the holiday season, which obviously means some level of commotion. And my life has recently been full in new and different ways. However, as I round a few significant corners in my time here I have been surprised by the decreasing sense of novelty and increasing sense of overwhelming stagnancy. Even with a lot of travelling, I have experienced a steady shift from ideal, to real, or an attempt to find the evolving reality in which I live. But I do feel as though I am understanding things more deeply (or understanding that I don't understand), even though I know I’m still relatively new here.

What has provided me a semi-transformation in the last month is the strengthening push-pull feeling that comes to exist in most service workers’ hearts, between optimism and pessimism. Moment to moment the tides in my being change, and my degree of frustration fluctuates. In some ways there are just too many anecdotal tales to tell, and too many emotions to articulate, so it snatches up my energy and motivation. But I know quite well that it is also a therapeutic release to emanate even a fractional piece of the landscape I see, and to share with all of you.

So by back-tracking only a bit, I’ll give you a taste of the holidays in Zambia, trying to give only an appetizer size portion of the feast-like smorgasbord of experiences I have to choose from.

The Holidays:

I run over to the car window among the sea of women vendors. And as it slides down, it reveals questioning eyes scanning the crowd in pursuit of fresh fruit. Focusing in on the bundles of bananas, oranges, and apples, the older white woman catches my gaze accidentally and stares with hesitance. Her face contorted, she looks struck by my presence; strange sight as it were. And listening to my practiced oration with confusion, she watches me carefully as I lift my bushel into her view and ask “Bananas? 5 pin”. A proposal meaning 5,000 kwacha – approximately 1 dollar – for 15 or so. Fated only to look awkwardly into the land rover full of ex-pats giggling, I try not to be too embarrassed by the bemused silence. But she smiles sweetly easing the tension, and we laugh together at the irony of it all. A white woman literally shoving her way into the life of most Zambians. It somehow encapsulates my presence here for the last 5 months. How strange I must look participating in the verve and mere existence of people here. And how easily I forget how odd it all is sometimes.

But it wasn’t necessarily routine vending for me. It was yet another unexpected wrinkle in the plans. What else was there to do but join the women selling by the side of the road? Jocelyn and I decided to pull up a rock and squat next to the others when we found out we’d be stranded. And we remained there for the next 6 hours, re-learning the art of patience, a skill well known in Africa...the woman didn’t buy my bananas but maybe next time.

Who knew how long it would be until the car part arrived just a few kilometers north, much less, when it would be installed and the vehicle would be ready to come pick us up. We were dropped off by the mini-bus that morning in hopes that our friend Mweemba would arrive there to escort us for the last half of the journey to Lake Kariba. After school was out, I was fervently anticipating this vacation from school (since the month of December is my break, and I'll be teaching again starting in January). But things usually aren’t that easy…I should have known.

Renalda, my friend visiting from Latvia, had joined Mweemba and Chris in Lusaka, and they travelled together in a rented vehicle to meet with Jocelyn and I. Rentals + Zambia = disaster. I couldn’t have been more excited to see Renalda, considering we hadn’t been together since concurrently studying in Lithuania 3 years ago. But wait more we did. So close, yet so far, we sat at different spots on the side of the road, she and Chris baking in the sun just kilometers away.

Eventually the car part came though and we were off, arriving at sundown in beautiful Siavonga. The hills and colorful purple sunset were reminiscent of my ex-home in Santa Barbara, and I was told they signified our arrival to the largest man-made lake in the world. We spent a long weekend cooking fresh fish, boating, swimming and conversing with the local children, visiting the sights like the Kariba dam (which contributes the majority of the power in the country), and walking over to Zimbabwe. Yup, we felt like rebels standing behind the “Welcome” sign, but our legitimacy was unfortunately squelched since our passports weren’t stamped.

All in all though, it was a relaxing and rejuvenating time. I could take showers, eat what I wanted, and generally experience a freedom I don’t have with the isolation and intensity of the village. It was great, but it couldn’t all be silky smooth…that would falsely represent life here. Of course, we didn’t make it more than a hop and a skip out of town before another breakdown occurred on our way back. At least the army men stationed nearby filled our bellies with kapenta, and we easily hailed a truck before the sun set. It just added to the fun and adventure, but the element of illness was another factor that slightly marred and complicated our trip.

Renalda had taken an anti-malarial before arriving in Zambia, unaware of the pharmaceutical company’s plans to take it off the market because of the terrible side-effects. I’m sure now she’d be more than willing to give her testimony of hallucinations and anxiety attacks in support of that move, but it was too late to avoid the frightening experience. She was in and out of hospitals and clinics 5 times in 4 weeks, and battled food poisoning and ironically, malaria as well. She was a trooper through it all, but we were still disappointed at being forced to sit still longer than hoped, giving up some planned adventures. It did allow us an opportunity to catch up, to vent, and to question the meaning and purpose of it all…the simple topic of life, that is. We spent a lot of time resting, while trying not to pull our hair out in frustration (even though we ended up chopping much of Renalda’s off), but we still were able to visit the falls, get spoiled by the Smith family in Choma, and make a short, but much anticipated guest appearance in Nakeempa. We managed to do a lot, even when beaten down by the bug.

And somehow I too acquired parasites, but malaria came just in time for my parents to nurse me back to health :). It truly wasn’t as severe or debilitating as I had expected. However, I basically convinced myself that I wouldn’t let it get me down. How could I be stuck in bed when there was limited and crucial time to be spent with Mom and Dad? Nope, I wouldn’t have it. In fact I’d rather throw myself off a bridge…and I did! I’m saving the real thrill of bungee jumping for when Matthew comes to visit, but I stepped off the same platform to experience the “bridge swing”. The 110 foot drop sent me soaring between the cliffs of Zambia and Zimbabwe, and I felt like I could nearly touch the kayakers maneuvering the rapids below. I flew for minutes in solitude and I think it healed me :) Even though my parents weren’t as thrilled as I was, they still managed to enjoy watching the ant size version of me waving at them from deep down the gorge, but don’t worry we had other pleasant moments as well.

We hiked around the Vic Falls area, but also took a day trip into Botswana where crocodiles sat swallowing their fish, and a female lion roamed in search of the right time to snag herds of impalas grazing by the water. Where zebras and giraffes forage the wilderness, and hippos just feet away, nearly tipped our boat. And since most Zambians I know have never seen a game park, and don’t really know what a safari is, I felt spoiled, and fortunate. It’s an expected part of African travel for us, but it really is a touristy adventure that most nationals are never exposed to.

Soon enough though, I removed my parents from tourist travel, and we drove our diesel into the bush. 2 nights and 3 days were more than enough time for them to experience life in the village. They met the other Ashley, the baby to which they were titled and perceived as grandparents. And from headmen and individuals, were given live chickens, slaughtered turkeys, eggs, and many mazuku fruit....these huge gifts were humbly accepted, because food is usually all there is to give. And they reciprocated by bringing many of their own gifts (M&Ms, and ball caps were such a hit). They also shared their words, and each was asked to speak at church...people were surprised that my Mom had caught onto the Tonga word for thank you (twalumba), and that they had and mastered the handshake with nearly a thousand opportunities to practice in the line-up afterwards. Bucket bathes, and cooking; exploring the fields. They even lived out the hierarchy expected of men and women, my dad getting treated like roayalty. But “This is kind of fun, it’s like camping” from the first day, became “I don’t know how you do this” by the last. The realities of my daily life became apparent in new ways, and I also realized how important it was for me to have someone there with me to know it through experience, and to be a sounding board for the joys and frustrations I rarely (if ever) get to share with anyone. I am ever grateful that they were here to be with me in that way and I know they will continue to be critical companions as I stride and stagger through each day.

I knew it would be sad to have them go, especially on Christmas day, but my wish was granted when we walked into the airport to see the bright orange letters announcing the cancellation of their flight. Just icing on the cake which gave me yet another opportunity to lecture them about the necessity of lowering all expectations. Parental role reversal is a funny thing. But hey, it gave us time to celebrate the season together over pizza in the rain…perfectly peculiar, but wonderfully weird. After hours of negotiation, they got on the flight the following day, and I’m still waiting to hear if they’ve actually touched down half a world away.

In some ways it feels like I simply skipped out on the whole of Christmas, its symbolic activities, and its real meaning. However, in others, I feel filled and fulfilled because so many of you are here with me in spirit, and have put so much prayerful time and effort into staying connected. I have realized through your healing and strengthening presence with me that the true joys during Christmas and throughout life don’t come through the number of presents under the tree, but rather through the generous giving of grace and love. Thank you for providing me with that, and I hope that each of you continues to have a peaceful holiday season, and a new year filled with joy. Merry (belated) Christmas!

The Rainy Season

The low, deep rumble of thunder groaned as the dark clouds churned in the sky like a stirred pot of burnt popcorn. The crisp breeze was swiftly seeping through my open window and laying on my skin like a blanket. My hair folicals stood at attention, and goose bumps popped up where sweat had just been oozing. Immediately my focus was averted from the "weekly forcast" for my upcoming science class, to the life giving forcast of cool showers ahead.

At first the rain just spattered and spit, lifting up the red dirt, leaving only a sticky path and dusty air. But as I made my way to peer through the window at my sopping clothes being ripped off the line, I caught a glimpse of the coming of the rainy season and its might. My iron sheets screamed in excitement as the water pounded on the roof in metered rhythm; new drumming that will add a beat into the steps of the villagers. The first rain is celebrated, but the tireless work awaits.

The oxen are led out of their makeshift stalls as the moonlight fills the dark hours of early morning. It's time to plow and plant, so that the wet earth opens to the buds of germination; so that the maize can be cultivated and sold; so that the people can fill their stomachs and be energized to work through the hardships of one more day. My students (and I) get up at 2am to help in the fields. They're usually overworked and underappreciated, but they're still expected to trudge all the way to school at 7, and prepare for the upcoming examinations. Their life quite literally depends on these tests, but food is a pretty obvious priority as well.

The moisture has already greened the area and fruit trees are dropping sweet, gooey mazuku fruit by the wagonful. The women have gathered enough to sit and nurse the orange nectar for days. And if mealie meal runs low, bush fruit is always a good subsitute for nourishment. I'm spoiled though and my students bring bulky bags to my doorstep. Though my newly inherited bike has led me out to some prime grazing territory, I'll accept the gifts even if they're bribes to help them study. It seems like a worthy cause.

But though the term is basically over for me in terms of classroom teaching, a new season begins. The learning will continue as I proceed to unearth the ever novel and evolving fruits of my new home in Nakeempa.

Dear Madam Ashley

A few letters from my students

Dear Madam Ashley,
I hope and trast that you are okey, also and me I am just okey. Bu me I am not okey because of you. So I want to tell you this week. This week is not okey because I miss you for a long time. So I am not happay because we not learn sci and maths. But I hope on Monday you must be heir and teach us sci and maths.

yours,
sincerely Fiedred

--------

To you Madam ASHLEY
Dear Madam Ashley,
How are you about last week, how is your life. Me I am okey but I am meased you for four day. I have information to you about learn maths and science. No one teach us teh your subject in the class so that today want you to teach us that topic you meased.

yours,
Principal Hamuchila

----------

Hai Swety Ashley,
Dear my friend Ashley.

I hope and trust that you are oky to the pen holder not so bad. And me am oky but am not oky properly because you are not there. We are weting for you madam Ashley, you are welcome madam Ashley. Now I want to tell you about this week, Madam this week is not god because you are not there. But I hope you are coming very soon.

-it's Daphine

To Lusaka and back

I came fresh out of the village. I was mostly content, feeling somewhat acclimated and accomplished. But I realized soon that I was also very tired, frustrated, confused, and full of all the other normal emotions one has when they begin the journey of relearning what it means to live. I read this poem and was comforted by the affirmation of my lament. I was refreshed by the re-framing of challenges and sometimes painful experiences.

Your pain is the breaking of the shell
that encloses your understanding
Even as the stone of the fruit must break,
that its heart my stand in the sun,
so you must know pain.
And could it keep your heart in wonder
at the daily miracles of your life,
your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity
through the winters of your grief.

- Kahlil Gibran (one of my favorites)

I thrust my hand into the swarm of eager passangers in hopes that they'd take my ticket and assign me anything but a middle seat. But much to my dismay, I plopped down sandwiched between Jocelyn and a large woman wearing a big-shouldered chitengi suit that came directly up to my right eye. I didn't anticipate shifting very much for the four hour drive to Lusaka.

The bright sun beat down on us and we sat sticking together like velcro, condemned to watch yet another nigerian movie about satanism. But "don't worry" I was reassured. We'd be slowly pealed apart for one bathroom break. I downed my water in no time and was wishing for more. But the grey skies in the distance signaled rains ahead, which even just visibly quenched my body's thirst. Too bad no one else wanted to be sprayed by the open windows. Instead we sat in a steam room of a bus, breathing only the humid inside air.

And though mostly uneventful, the activity and chaos was waiting for us to arrive at the bus station in Lusaka. Before we even stepped down into a bustling Zambia I didn't yet know, we were spotted. They paced by our windows attempting to keep our gaze and smoothly trying to escort us to their vehicles, or offer us something we'd pay a muguwa price for. But Jocelyn and held our bags close and threw some shoulders around to break through the crowd. And soon enough, Eric, my country representative, appeared towering over the masses of much shorter, much darker Zambians.

The day I began in Nakeempa was the last time I had seen him. He and his wife Kathy hugged me and drove off as I watched their truck full of comfort and familiarity, disappear in the dust, leaving me in my new home. My cell phone should have been a way to connect but trying to stand statue-like in the small kitchen where I got service got old. (especially considering it was still a 50-50 chance the converstaion would last more than a minute) So for 2 1/2 months we had chatted briefly on the phone twice, and had exchanged an email or two.

I was ready to see some familiar faces. I was ready for a change of scenery. I was ready to have some space to vent. To tell my stories, ask my questions, express my frustrations, and also share my joys.

The "Planning Meeting" in Lusaka was a gathering for all of us working with MCC in Zambia. And though we cover a lot of ground, geographically and organizationally, we're a smaller group of people, that feels much more like a family. I was delighted to meet the few faces who had until then only been names on a paper. I had received a few encouraging text messages from Cheryl Smith (a family friend, who does marriage and family therapy) but was also excited to meet her husband Peter (who works at Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation doing Peace education) and their two energetic kids Brendan and Jason. Chris was there too, after taking off work in the heart of city market in downtown Lusaka where he works with urban refugee issues. And Jocelyn took a retreat from chaplaincy at Choma Secondary School to be there as well.

Eric and Kathy graciously and generously hosted all of us in their home for five days. But it wasn't just a meeting for the north americans in town. Because the breadth and depth of what we are all doing wouldn't be possible without the Zambian friends and partners we work with. Ginah, a gorgeous young woman was great to have around to compare cross-cultural experiences, and to laugh over similar mistakes and challenges in her recent year of participation in IVEP in Canada. And Keith Mwaaba joined us from Macha Hospital, to listen and hear our stories, but also to share his encouragement and well-versed perspectives about the work we all do.

We all sat together for meals and meetingg, and were spoiled with good food and good weather. (I even got a few long hot showers which lightened up my skin from weeks of what I thought was a tan, but found out was mostly a thick layer of accumulating grime) Each day was alive with storytelling and classic rock. We vented about our struggles with language, communication, loneliness, lack of resources etc. etc. We gathered as a team and as a supportive family, through both our shared and individual experiences. We listened to each other and shared in the joy and the pain. we also re-focused on our goals for MCC, for Zambia, and for our individual contributions. We discussed the purpose of being here. It was a reviving experience, which rejuvinated me in a way I didn't know I needed.

It was Peter who shared a message on our final day. He held up his "2 in 1" pictures of faces that slowly transformed into an intricate vase, or Brendan's vision of "a coconut that turned into an Indian face". We learned yet again to look longer and harder at the world around us. We were reminded of the need to re-focus, and reframe. He taught as that the pictures symbolized our many laments, and explained that in fact, they were opportunities. We can use the particular energy of complaint to engage with God, and to perceive differently, so that new hope is built throughout the challenges. To look at things with new eyes is a not an easy or passive task. But rather, it is an active call to compassion, where we are humbly compelled into action.

I learned and grew, and left with a renewed sense of vision and purpose. So when I got back to Nakeempa after a 5 day vacation, I was ready to take on the irregularity of every day life. And it was a good thing, since last week was even more abnormal than normal :)

"I Bornwell Siagwalele now declare this polling station open!"

My host Dad, as headmaster of the school, broke the early morning silence to let the multiplying line of anxious voters into my classroom to cast their ballot. The line began to form as early as 5am, but at 6, when it all began, there were a surprising number of men and women from the surrounding bush areas who were eager to vote at Nakeempa Basic School. Little did I know that I'd be spending much of the day there as well. Even though I'm not Zambian and don't have a voters card, I'm a girl, so I was asked to serve the electoral commission of Zambia...breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I was glad though, because it gave me an in to view the process of bi-elections, and to chat with people outside about their political views. Most people knew they wanted Hakainde Hichelema (who they call the Zambian Obama) and the results of our polling station showed that later in the day. But there were many who either didn't read or write, and needed help at the ballot box. Even so, most appeared very opinionated, and excited to participate in this historic forward movement (hopefully) of their country.

But even though Thursday was the day, many villages are secluded enough that to receive all of the results takes time, and the total count won't be displayed until later today or tomorrow. Last I checked it was Rupiah Banda in the lead, who would symbolize a continuance of the ruling MMD party. However, Sata is at his heals, and it has been a tight race. We'll all wait to see if this causes a violent eruption, or if the "peaceful nature of Zambians" I keep hearing about is a reality in the face of change.

And I know elections are the main topic of discussion for everyone at home as well, so I'm excited to keep reading more about the transformation of our own country.

I feel as though these last weeks have truly given me new eyes to see the world, and while I continue to face daily struggles, I now realize their importance. I'm learning how to revel in them, and to learn from each new experience.

We look with uncertainty
Beyond the old choices for
clear-cut answers
To a softer, more permeable aliveness
Which is every moment
at the brink of death;
For something new is being born in us
If we but let it.
We stand at a new doorway,
Awaiting that which comes...
Daring to be human creatures.
Vulnerable to the beauty of existence.
Learning to love

- Anne Hillman

Victoria Falls

Multiple rainbows over the "trickling" water at Victoria Falls...the rainy season is still approaching, so the it will be an even more wonderful part of the 7 wonders when it's gushing in a few weeks.Chris (the other SALTer) and I relaxing, and enjoying a non-shima meal


A visit to the Falls deserves your best attire...or maybe just polished shoes

Jocelyn, Chris and I (my fellow MCCers and new travel buddies)

The dare devil at "Devil's swimming pool"

I landed though, and we held each others angles to take turns hanging over the edge to catch a glimpse of the fast moving water

Celebrations

The bride to be, preparing for marriage at her kitchen party...there are many

lessons to be learned

The rest of the women enter in, as she is colorfully taught through song and dance

And even I learned how to shake it Zam style (notice the matching mother daughter outfits)

Baby Ashley...this I celebrated :)

And Bataata's Graduation...they were excited I promise...

But after the kitchen party comes the wedding

with the women preparing food for the guests ...2 or 3 day old nshima and goat

I knew I had to wear my whole chitengi outfit this time, but I wasn't anticipating feeding wedding cake to the Matron...

But everyone complimented me on my efforts


Even the women in the church contemplated my Zambian style...I'm not quite there,

but at least I'm trying!

And thank goodness I eat nshima with them...

maybe someday I'll become a real Zambian :)

Nakeempa Basic School

My grade 8 classroom My grade 8 class!


Nervously giving presentations on birds...in tonga-english :)


My grade 9 club, after a field trip to my home to learn about internal combustion engines...not that ours usually works
And the younger pupils (grade 1-7) watching netty ball after school

A typical PTA meeting under the mango trees (which often serve as my moch classroom in the afternoons)

The Nakeempa Community

Footing, as they say

Or trying to use the vehicle to get into town

Even the Nurse's honda is slightly unreliable

But if you stick around, you're always offered a meal

or a baby (this is Luyando, which means love)

or time with whatever other company is in the vicinity

But no matter what Isaac is usually by my side

Especially when his mom is washing his little brother

My friend and neighbor Mr. Choonga (a fellow teacher) is also around quite a bit


But whoever's around is usually willing to go search the trees for some fruit

And if it's Wednesday, Saturday, or Sunday you can hear the choir, even from afar

So my novelty is wearing off, but the kids still find ways to be fascinated by me...or by my watch

The stares have turned to smiles though

And now I at least feel like I blend into gatherings like this baptism at the dam

I have learned to loiter on many a porch (here chatting with other teachers)

and to make regular my visits to the clinic

but mostly I've learned how to appreciate just being...and though communication is still difficult, I find new ways each day to see the beauty of Zambia and it's people

Pictures of Home

The Siagwalele Home (and mine!) The latrine (to the left) and the room to bathe (to the right) An afternoon stroll to the Dam with my host sisters
Learning how to cook from Baama

And also how to slaughter a chicken

But you can't go a day without nshima :)

And rape (the typical lettuce-like vegetable found in every family's garden)

Trying my hand at baking over the open fire...surprisingly the cake turned out!
And my roofless room :)