The first week felt like a month but the last few days flew past way too fast. It was sad to spend our final day at Hope Village. We broke up into groups of 4 and 5 and went to all the classes giving “motivational talks.” I was in a group with Brittney, who talked about how her parents worked hard to get where they are; Kelly, who talked about the importance of using school to realize your dreams; Cat, who talked about staying in school out of respect for your parents’ sacrifices; and Heather; who urged the kids to stay in school and do what they love because her son might not get to. As we moved from class to class our speeches got briefer and more focused. I discussed the importance of learning from everyone and getting to know people with different backgrounds. We had dinner at Hope House with all the orphans, host families and staff. The power went off for a couple of hours during which I saw stars in abundance for the first time since our Sankofa bus broke down in the middle of Mississippi.

Someone burned popcorn.

Saturday May 22

We woke up early and took a bus to Lusaka stopping a few miles outside of the city to visit the site of what will soon be a chicken farm that Hope will use to support the orphanage and school. The 5 hour trip took about 9. We spent some time at the cultural village and knick-knacks were bought. We got to the guest house and discovered a closet that had a bathroom inside (unfortunately, I didn’t get a picture). Chad and I set up the slackline and taught a few girls on the team and the security guard how to walk on it. Before dinner we talked about our personal highlights on the trip and how we’ve changed because of it.

Sunday May 23

This 5 hour drive took 10 and we had a few mishaps. We got pulled over by the cops for a while, we broke a shock and got a flat, a seat broke and Chad sat in the aisle for a while, and we got lost in the dark for a while. On a more positive note, the sunset was amazing. We finally arrived in Livingstone, found a guest house that could hold us and waited, miserable and hungry, for a few hours until we had the most satisfyingly fried food every. At this point in the trip but nets are obsolete as most of us just don’t care enough anymore.

Monday May 24

The safari was a pretty sweet experience and our guide really knew his stuff. Next time I’ll bring a much longer lens. We saw giraffes, alligators (or maybe crocodiles), baboons, buffalo and a few other smaller animals. After the safari we drove a few minutes to Victoria falls. It’s strange to see baboons just hanging out in the middle of the road. I had heard about the beauty and power of Victoria falls, so I prepared by wrapping my camera in a plastic bag, and wrapping the camera bag in a rain jacket. Some people rented ponchos for 5000 Kwacha but I had a feeling they wouldn’t do much more than take away from the experience. When the water is high, one doesn’t so much see the falls as feel the falls. There is a massive white mist that rises up and engulfs everything, and almost completely obscuring any view of the actually falls. We walked across the wettest bridge in the world, hiked down to the boiling pot and got baptized.

Before leaving on this trip my parents had discussed having us kids baptized after I got back from Zambia. I opposed this because I wanted it to be something I did on my own when I’m good and ready. I really didn’t think that that time would come so soon! Jaimie wanted to do it because it was in Zambia that she saw Christ and was born again. I have always most readily seen God in creation, be it through the impossibly intricate workings of the cell and the human body or the amazing capacity of people for love and creativity or the vastness of the universe. Until I stepped onto the bridge and was instantly soaked to the bone did I realize how perfect it would be to be baptized at Victoria falls, an awesome display of the power of nature. For what seemed at first to be a possibly hasty decision, it has definitely solidified in my mind as the right place and time with the right people.

We started the day off by going to CINDI which is an acronym for Children IN DIstress. They serve the orphaned, abandoned and forgotten children of the neighborhood and seek to take those children and rehabilitate them into the government-funded schools. Too often Zambian children drop out of school to work because tragedy has struck their family and they are call upon to support their relatives. Many never even start. Once they fall behind, it is almost impossible for them to get back into the school system. CINDI works with these kids and their guardians on a very individual basis to bring them up to speed based not on age but ability. After seeing how they work with the families in the community by giving them farmable land and a support system, we got back on the bus and went to Seeds of Hope, an orphanage for HIV positive babies.

Most are less than 5 years old. After touring the house, we played with them for a few hours. The staff are so loving and totally committed to these children that they really give them everything they can. the environment was incredibly positive and each child is given the specialized attention that she or he needs. One little girl fell asleep on me and drooled everywhere

When we got home we had an amazing dinner by candle light, cooked up some fwytumbwa and played around with some light painting until the power came back on.

Tuesday May 18

Today was the first full day of the clinic and brick building. 144 children and 250 blocks later, the nurses feel accomplished and by back is killing me. Hard manual labor with Zambian inmates is a surprisingly fun experience. We would mix 4 loads of flack stone with a bag of cement and add water. If you’ve ever made pasta, it’s a similar process…just with rocks and cement. Once the mix was mixed (not an easy feat by any means) a shoveler would throw some of the stuff into a mold and the smasher would pick up the mold and smash it on the ground to make sure all the corners were well-packed. The shoveler would then top off the mold and slap it with the back of the shovel before the smasher moved the mold to the row of drying blocks and relieved the mold of it’s wet filling. At one point, my shoveler (I was a much better smasher) asked me if I was tired and needed a break. “Nope,” I replied. “You are doing a fine job.” Nothing like some affirmation in the morning.

After we got home that night Chad, Andy, Pethias and I caught a cab back into Ndola to meet the girls at the internet cafe. I checked my grades, was satisfied and the girls left. The cafe closed and we hung out on the curb, entertained by the drunken antics of the other men on the curb. We talked about things with Pethias for a long while about Zambia, girls, phones, and life, and the whole time we were under the impression that we were waiting for a bus. After a while Pethias turns to us and says, “So, should we go look for a taxi?” We all laughed and got up because we thought that was what we were doing. It was a small lesson in letting go and not worry about the next stop.

We walked a few blocks before we saw a cab but another man was getting into it. We must have looked pretty disheartened because he leaned out the window and said, “we can all fit!” Pethias went to talk to the driver who shared a similar sentiment and Chad, Andy, Pethias and I got into the back seat of this tiny cab. As Chad, who led the way, slid into the seat, the driver turns to him and says, “you must hold my speaker,” and handed him what looked like a speaker from a low-end hi-fi that one might find at a yard sale for $15. We both assumed that he was just transporting this speaker, maybe from a repair shop to his stereo system at home… until we were all packed in (Andy on Pethias’ lap, and I, on Andy’s) and music started coming out of the speaker – loud music. Specifically, Tech N9ne. Chad’s full bladder really appreciated the pronounced bass. We made it back, paid the man 10,000 Kwacha and Chad ran to the bathroom. We all laughed about it for a while.

Wednesday May 19

I rolled out of bed and immediately regretted my foray into brick building the day before. Most of the clinic pictures were taken and the clinic saw the rest of the kids. Chad and I did our best to shirk our physical duties by making trips to the chemist to buy more drugs for the kids. We also went to the old school and bought more than enough sugar cane for everyone. It was a far cry from the cut-up and bagged sugar cane cubes I was used to, but after many failed attempts, I had nearly mastered Marvin’s technique. We found a praying mantis and had a lengthy photoshoot. Marcus found ouf that the little child he though was a boy is actually a girl.

We had dinner as a group and apparently not only the Zambian children think we’re older than we really are, but so do Savour and Marvin (who are 20+) who guessed Andy, Ryan and I as 23ish. Back at mama Lillian’s, we made fwytumbua, or fritters. Everyone was very amused that we were so excited for something so common and plain to them.

I mentioned before that the once-notoriously late bus had been frighteningly punctual. Not on Sunday. We were pretty late to the service, but no one minded. The church is a rough structure, made with split logs and blue tarps on the roof. We were individually welcomed by ba Charles (but he almost forgot Jaimie bahaha) and a few of us spoke briefly to the congregation. Between the yelling, dancing and holding hands with older men, it was a very new experience. I’m very glad that my first pentecostal experience was in Zambia.

After church it was time for a quick lunch at the office before being whisked away to teacher Judy’s house to mourn the loss of her nephew. Marcus, Chad, Andy, Ryan and I sat in a tent next to the house with ba Mumbwe and a couple other men. We shook their hands and sat around in silence. We discussed the differences between the US and Zambian cultures in the traditions surrounding death. The women were all in one room in the house. From the outside we could hear their powerful songs of lament. After about 20 minutes, we got back on the bus and left.

That night we made hamburgers, fries and improvised baked beans for the family. Mama Lilian said she liked it, but I’m not completely convinced… Uncle J really seemed to gravitate towards the much more familiar beans.

Monday May 17

The funeral was a powerful experience. We arrived early and stood in relative silence, waiting for the deceased and everyone else to arrive. As we stood in the grass I could see trucks and vans packed with people driving past us further into the burial grounds. There were a few bunches of people near us and it was very quiet except for the brief burst of song or wailing that would drift over the hill from other funerals. The moment the body arrived some of the women started to cry loudly and fall on the ground, grief-stricken. There was a short progression to the lone tree near the grave and a group of a dozen women sang sad songs. A pastor spoke to the crowd in Bemba about sppreciating the time you have and doing right by God. They sang some more then lowered the casket into the grave. The men started to fill it in, taking turns and passing the shovels to whoever wanted to take part. Later, we talked about how this is the men’s way of crying and singing; the way they mourn and involve themselves in the mourning process.

Afterwards we went to the office to decompress and collect our thoughts before going to Hope Village to start the clinic. At first I was wary about going to a funeral of someone I had never met. But after talking to ba Mumbwe outside about the traditions surrounding death in Zambia I felt like less of an intruder. In Zambia, if someone dies, everyone is expected to be at the funeral. Even friends of friends who were vaguely familiar with the departed are expected to take off work to be there. I spent the afternoon making blocks with Chad and talking to Sitali about his life and dream of going to study theology. From what I heard and saw, the test-day at the clinic was busy and good. The nurses are looking forward to a full day tomorrow.

We played with the kids from the orphanage, something that had been missing and noticed by the returners. We ended up playing a sort of hot potato game with everyone in a big circle trying to keep the volleyball up in the air. It went over well.

Back at home, we discussed what this trip was actually trying to achieve and concluded that it works on a different level for everyone. For me, I see a new culture, language and way of life and how they experience and celebrate God. It has also reminded me of my love for the third world. Being in a group of such religiously and spiritually mixed people has solidified my realization that I still need to read, talk and learn if I hope to definitively know what I believe and why. Greater understanding will always come from a more informed conversation.

Thursday May 13
We unpacked toothpaste at the office before taking the scenic route through Twapia to avoid the red, dusty road that we had taken before. Both the neighborhood we are living in and Twapia where the orphanage and school are located remind me of San Rafael and El Tingo in Ecuador. A lot of the plants and grasses are similar, at night the scent of burning fields fills the air and there is a heavy emphasis on starch in the diet. The similarities and familiarities continued to surprise me throughout the trip and really reminded me of my love for Ecuador in light of my newfound passion for Africa.

We arrived at the school and were immediately ushered into one of the classrooms where what must have been nearly all the school children were waiting for us. For the next hour they sang and danced for us, eventually dragging us into the mess and making us shake our hips. Not dancing was out of the question. Somewhere between the singing and the dancing, there was a series of skits. One was a call and response of sorts about HIV/AIDS and how abstinence is the only way to help their generation succeed. One boy passionately recited a version of the classic nursery rhyme “If all the seas were one sea.” For many people, myself included, this welcoming ceremony was incredibly powerful. I think a big part of its impact came from our differences in culture. We are so used to hosting people being a burden that when the Zambians welcomed us with song and dance it rocked us. It is relatively easy for us to raise money and give ourselves by making this trip to Zambia but it is a very different thing to learn to be welcomed and loved by strangers.

One of the reasons Hope village is being built so fast is because of the nearby prison. Similar to many work release programs we have here in our lovely prison systems in the US, the prisoners are given a chance to get out under minimal supervision and get back on their feet. (This is partial speculation, obviously. I had a few conversations with Jonathan, their supervisor, who will be getting out in a month after 6 years, and the men all seemed happy and that they were there willingly.) 5 days a week a handful of inmates nearing the end of their sentences make blocks. Chad and I had a full day of this and we definitely regretted giving it our all the next day. Jonathan gave me a letter and asked me to read it to my church and whoever else might be able to help. I’ll transcribe the letter in my next post.

That evening we went to an internet cafe in downtown Ndola where I found out that I got great grades last semester and a man in a slanted orange hat tried to sell me what may have been crack. When we got back to the house we had more great conversation for a few hours and anticipated going to see Slave Tree in the morning.

Friday May 14
Slave Tree was enlightening and the resulting conversation was understandably frustrating. It finally put into perspective the enormity of everything I’ve learned about slavery, racism and stratification in the last few years. It was intriguing to hear ba Charles perspective on both the past and current situation.

I tried to not take my camera out every day, especially at the beginning of the trip because I want to actually see things with my eyes, not through a lens (how I still ended up with 1800+ photos, I do not know). Through this conservative photojournalism I realized the importance of etiquette when taking pictures in difference contexts. At the orphanage, the children expect cameras and want to have their picture taken. That’s fine. When walking down the street of Ndola, it’s not okay to take pictures of strangers. In Zambia we were, in a way, ambassadors for not only North Park, but for our country. If we make people feel objectified, like some sort of specimen or novelty, what good does that do? When in doubt, ask yourself, how would I feel were I in that situation?

Saturday May 15
We walked through Twapia from the old school and orphanage to the new “village”. Besides my being uncomfortable in a group, it was great to see where they were just six months ago and the incredible amount of progress that is happening. We went to a market where everyone stocked up on chitenges. I bought a few because it’s the law but was more interested in the fwytumbwa (fritters), sweet potato and freshly roasted peanuts.

Mama Lilian’s house is fairly large and unfinished. The exposed cinder block walls and single bare light bulb hanging in each room demanded a bit of adaptation after so many years of plastered and painted walls and rooms with 5 electrical outlets. What the house lacks in the comforts the five of us are so used to it more than makes up for in quality morning light through the window in our bedroom and patience from our host family.

Mama Lilian could not have been a better host mom to us. She was all hugs and smiles, massaging Chad’s sore muscles after making bricks, heating up water for us to wash off the dirt of the day and teaching us about her family and culture. She always had jungle oats and jokes ready for us when we get up and are waiting for the bus. If I seemed to be more tired than awake she would do her best to wake me up and get me moving. Usually around 8:30 the bus would make its way to our house after picking up everyone else. In previous trips the bus was notoriously late. Apparently the drivers have become much more punctual as we only had to wait more than a few minutes on a couple occasions.

We drove through Ndola and stopped at the office of Hope Ministries where ba Charles would teach us about Zambian culture, history and some Bemba phrases that would be useful to know. Our first day at the office (Wed. 12) we had the opportunity to walk around Ndola a bit to exchange money. Chad pulled 2,000,000 kwacha out of the ATM (the exchange rate is about 4,800:1USD). I also noticed a distinct difference between being alone and white in a non-white place and being in a group of white people in a non-white place. I felt almost responsible in a way for the other people in the group, not so much at the orphanage but when in the city. Kids at the school and orphanage are excited to see us and expect us and understand why we are there. People in Ndola are probably more confused and wary of our sudden appearance as they go about their business. I could go on about how I don’t like being in groups, but that’s more of a personal issue

When we got to the orphanage for the first time everyone was very excited to play with the kids and see what this thing was all about. Those in our group who had been on previous trips were amazed at the amount of physical progress that had taken place. That night the five of us guys on the trip sat around and talked for a good three hours. A very solid day, indeed.

Our first flight to DC was fairly uneventful for me as I was asleep the whole time. Apparently it was not to peaceful for everyone else. Ryan and Cat were sitting next to me and had some close calls because of the turbulence. I woke up right after the rocking and just before landing to see Cat looking slightly miserable and Ryan in disbelief that I could sleep through something so frightening. We had a few hours in the airport for lunch and wandering. I got a burger at Five Guys with Chad after playing a never-ending game of Egyptian Rat Screw and walking into a table (my shin is still not 100%).

The next leg of our journey was to Johannesburg, South Africa via Dakar, Senegal to fuel up. I’ve done a decent amount of flying over my brief 19 years of life and I’ve always been able to fall asleep almost instantly and stay asleep for hours at a time. This was easily the longest flight I had been on (weighing in at about 17 hours) and I was exhausted a couple hours into it. I figured that was a pretty good way to be feeling with such a long flight ahead of me. I popped a couple of sleep aides to make sure I stayed asleep for a good portion of the flight and waited…and waited…then started to get scared. It’s one thing to not sleep a wink on a 17 hour flight. It’s miserable. It’s completely different (and far far worse) to take some sleeping pills and not sleep on a 17 hour flight! Not even the Cloud Nine could make things better for me. It did a better job of scratching up my face then actually putting me to sleep. Needless to say, when I stepped off the plane and headed off towards the baggage claim I was a happy camper.

We spent the night at a hostel outside of the city. Patrick, our slightly intoxicated patron, greeted us and took us to a nearby restaurant that his friend manages. We had a lot of pizza and later Logan, the friend from the restaurant, showed up as we were watching fight club and played pool with us. I guess when he said he would stop by later he was serious. I slept like a baby even with Marcus snoring loudly. I woke up in the morning with the sun in my eyes and the realization that I’m actually in South Africa. We drove back to the airport to catch our final flight to Ndola.

Here’s where things get a bit more confusing. We all made our way to the ticket counter to check our bags for our flight to Ndola, Zambia. I was the first one in line and after the ticket lady spent some time clicking she informed me that I was not on the flight. “But, look at this group of 17 I’m with, 10 of whom just got their boarding passes!” She told me that I’m part of the group, but I’m just not on the flight. It just so happened that there were four of us that weren’t on the flight. Apparently, months ago, when tickets were purchased, some tickets were purchased for some people who ended up not going on the trip. Somehow that meant that four of us (Jaimie, Heather, Andy and myself) were on tickets that were bought separately and never confirmed by the travel agent. The four of us bought tickets for the next flight (9 hours later) and waved goodbye to the rest of our group. Andy and I spent some time wandering around the shops and made friends with this guy with awesome dreads who recommended we go to East Gate to pass the time. We wanted to get out of the airport and see what Jo-burg had to offer and figured the nice guy at Markham would know what was around. After a long cab ride and listening to our racist cab driver rant about Nigerians and Chinese for a while we arrived at East Gate, the premier shopping center of the greater-Johannesburg area. A bit of a disappointment but a good way to get lunch and kill the time.

Our last flight was brief and small. I was in the front seat on the left, the only one in the row. On my right was the flight attendant’s space. The plane was freezing cold but seeing my first African sunset from the plane took my mind off it a bit. We landed in Ndola’s tiny airport, walked across the tarmac and exited through the small building that was the baggage claim, customs and immigration. This is where I first met Paster Charles Mumba (respectfully called “ba Charles”) and the bus that I would end up spending many hours on. After dinner with the group, we went to our respective host homes.