Ramblings from Zambia

Time for a Change

2009-07-30T03:18:00.015-11:00

I have a new blog posting, but friends, it is time to convert. I have been back in the States for 8 months, so I really should move on from the “carmen-in-zambia” blog site. The new address:

Tales from an American Vicar

(http://an-american-vicar.blogspot.com)

An appropriate title I think...

Thanks for reading!

What up Queens?

2009-07-26T06:52:00.040-11:00

Unequivocally, a cool day. Yesterday my friend Kekla and I snooped around Long Island City in Queens to seriously expand our cultural awareness. There is a building complex beside the subway line just as you emerge from beneath ground on the 7 train into Queens that is full of beautiful graffiti. I have always been curious about the place, so I recruited a companion and headed there with my camera yesterday. A row of rather unfriendly looking men sat in lawn chairs along a paint-laden concrete wall just outside the building and until we got a nod from a gentleman at the end of the line, I thought perhaps Kekla and I were going to get booted out of the place. As it turns out, a guy named "Meres" had a vision for this public art space years ago and it attracts artists from all over the world. Artists who prove themselves worthy are given a wall where they can paint anything they want for free. The better the art, the longer it stays. Meres, donning a stylish fedora hat and wearing paint smudged jeans, was the one that gave us the head nod to enter his fascinating maze of colorful tributes to life and art and crumbling fame and fortune.

We talked to a tall, lanky Irish kid who fidgeted with excitement as he stood before his palette, preparing for his second attempt at creating something worthy of attention. I was expecting him to tell us that his work was "subversive" or a "critique on modern social ills" or something like that. But instead he told us that his graffiti is about "becoming famous. I want people to know my name." So much for subversion.

We then headed to PS1, a modern art space that hosts a block party every Saturday. The space is beautiful and fascinating and worthy of a visit. Dark sun glasses bobbed rhythmically to the house music being spun in the courtyard while white wine and beer sloshed in the hands of pretty, sleek 30-somethings.

There were some interesting, interactive media exhibitions that Kekla and I had fun playing with.
All in all, a good Saturday.

My sister is having a baby...

2009-07-22T13:12:00.005-11:00

... any day now. I am thrilled. Pleased as punch. I love my two darling nephews and now we are adding a girl to the bunch.

But, procreation is something I struggle to wrap my mind around.

Clearly I get it, biologically. But this whole procreation thing is a miracle. An everyday miracle that people I know and love have achieved. One good friend meets another good friend. They fall in love and voila, 9 months later, a tiny, unique individual comes into the world. Two people become three.

The math does not add up: 1 + 1 = 3 (or sometimes 4).

Amazing.

Lots of things make me want to burst into tears. If society would allow it, I'd probably be a blubbering mess most days because the world can be so stinking beautiful. I walked past a dry cleaners that had this sign hanging in the window:

Redemption is all around my friends. All around us.

I got nothing

2009-07-16T03:34:00.008-11:00

I am in a blogging slump.

And it isn't because my life feels particularly boring.

My life has been interesting since returning to New York: seeing old friends from high school, going to dinner with fabulous people, playing softball on warm summer Sunday evenings (my team is really nice to me despite the fact that I am a disaster on the field), went to the opera in Central Park and watched a movie under the stars and the Brooklyn Bridge last week. Visited friends in Princeton and followed the "bridge and tunnel people" back to New York on a Saturday night (I have never seen so many pairs of five-inch heals in my life). Had a lovely time with my friend Tracy who was visiting from Chad (yes, THE Chad. THE Chad where less than 1% of the population has access to electricity and was deemed the most corrupt country in the world a few years ago), and got to talk to Cheryl, my dear friend from Zambia on the phone the other night.

So, what is wrong with me? Plagued by fantastic experiences and plagued by writer's block.

Maybe it is because life feels jumbled. You ever feel like this? Jumbled. Mixed-up. A little unclear. Fabulous and simultaneously a little un-fabulous.

I have just two more months left in New York and although there are two viable job opportunities on the table, I still feel a little .... mmmm.... jumbled.

Post-Vacation Flu

2009-07-02T16:36:00.019-11:00

Does this ever happen to you? Just when your body begins to relax-- WHAM-- sick. I just got home from vacation, which was fabuloso, but now, here I sit in my underwear (the air conditioning hasn't kicked in yet), box of tissues in hand trying to figure out if I am hot or cold. I am breathing like an 80 year-old smoker on oxygen.

I just popped in a cough drop and am looking at pics from the last two weeks as Allison Krauss and her blue-grass band serenades me. My life is pretty darn great. Went camping with my fam over the weekend, went to the Oregon Coast, ate ice cream at the Tillamook Cheese Factory, swam with my nephews, built sand castles, stayed up late reading novels, saw whales in Depot Bay, went to the aquarium, worked out in the garden with my sister, ate halibut that just might be the best fish in the world, and laughed at countless hilarious things my nephews said and did.

I love vacation.

Right before I left this morning Tyson was strolling the "Practice Baby" around the house. My sister cleverly put a doll in a car-seat to prepare the boys for a baby sister, but the boys pile toys on her and "pretend she is a boy."

I am happily sunburned and refreshed after 2 weeks away from the craziness of New York City. Gonna go crawl into my cozy bed and hopefully sleep like the dead. I'm bringing the kleenex box to bed with me.

Welcome babies!

2009-06-28T19:11:00.007-11:00

Welcome to the world baby Maddie and baby Laney! My friend Jess just gave birth to these beautiful baby girls and despite the fact that they were born into a pretty tough situation, mommy and girls are doing well. I got to visit them in the hospital while home on vacation.

Tiny, beautiful girls. I am so glad to meet you!

a few days on the farm

2009-06-23T14:51:00.010-11:00

I love vacation. Spending time with the fam can be stressful for some people, but I love it. When I stay with my sister I sleep with the windows open and you can hear the cows in the pasture out back and the rooster crow at dawn. I unabashedly listen to country music and wear overalls and boots to work out in the garden.

I have bruises all over my legs from my nephews who love to climb Aunt Carmen and nap in my bed and ram their bicycles into my shins. We have been to the library, swim lessons, to the park, to the batting cages, and I have read endless books on Thomas the Tank Engine. This morning I helped round up chickens to clip their wings (this doesn't hurt, all you city folk).

Life is good in Canby, Oregon.

We are going camping this weekend and I am crossing my fingers that the weather will be lovely so I can try out my new frog-green bathing suit. I'm dying for some sun. My sis and I will probably lounge around with novels because she is PREGNANT and the wee girl growing inside her is demanding more and more of her energy.

I'll keep you posted on the adventures...

Cheer from the New York Times

2009-06-15T04:39:00.002-11:00

I love this picture. I was reading an article in the Times over the weekend and was charmed by the hand-scrawled bike and sunshine.

The world can be such a messy place. Just reading about Iran and North Korea and Zimbabwe and spending some time with clashes here at home can make one feel awfully small and awfully dreary.

But then there are pictures like this that remind us that the world is full of sweetness. A sunrise and a bicycle made for two. May the coming week be full of bright days, blue skies, and deep delight-- ice cream, a hand to hold, and belly-aching laughter.

Ode to stupid things

2009-06-13T05:24:00.015-11:00

In the last week I have made a number of profound mistakes. Predominately around communication. I have misread some communication that proved earth-shatteringly embarrassing. I have said a litany of ridiculous things and worse, I have done a few ridiculous things that have made me pause and say, "Really? You did that?" And to top it off, I have offended a few people.

Almost all of this has been done completely by accident.

Some days are like that. Some weeks are like that.

Then I remember a little thing called grace. Something that I am not all that great at giving or receiving. I hold grudges. I endlessly critique myself and others. I can just hear my mother saying, "Be kinder, Carmen. Be kinder to yourself and be kinder to others." My mom has been gone more than 9 years now. I have nearly forgotten what it is like to have a mother who calls and writes and sends packages and cares about all the things that no one else cares about. But hopefully her words have taken root even more deeply than her DNA and one of these days I will grow a little more wise and a little more gracious.

And so I say goodnight with words my mother always used to say, "Don't worry, dear. Things always look brighter in the morning."

No sacrifice at all

2009-06-12T23:58:00.008-11:00

It is 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning and I have been awake for almost 2 hours. This is a rare phenomenon. Even more rare is the fact that I really don't want to go back to sleep.

Last night I was having dinner with a friend, not so unusual on a Friday night, when I got a phone call from the church receptionist asking if I might step in at the shelter that evening because the volunteer for the night had failed to show. I felt inconvenienced, but as a martyr, accepted to invitation and gathered a few things before meeting the group of guys outside the church. As soon as I saw them any smug self-congratulation was squelched and replaced with the more accurate realization that this really was no sacrifice at all, but instead, a much needed reality check. The men were laden with "things" for when you are homeless, you carry all you own on your back or in roller suitcases.

As some of us went to the shelter kitchen to make sandwiches for dinner, one man carefully laid out his regiment of pills treating his diabetes and heart condition. Another man put in the latest Van Damme movie while another opened up his bed, pulled a sheet over his head and went to sleep.

"Lights out at 10 p.m." and our short evening together came to a close. I set out coffee and cereal and muffins in the morning and I received warm and insistent thanks as they ate and gathered their things for the day. Thank you nice, rich lady for sacrificing a whole evening of your time to make sure we didn't have to find a place on the street last night.

Not much of a sacrifice at all.

One gentlemen, let's call him 'R," was telling me about what life was like in Alabama where he was raised. His mama used to make him grits and eggs and cold cereal has been ruined for him forever. He said he was catching a bus later that day to go to Rockaway to fish for the weekend and I wished him well. I cannot help but wonder what it would take for R to obtain the dignity of a safe place to keep his clothes, his diabetes medication, a fishing rod, and a collection of goods for cooking grits. Wouldn't that be nice.

Here I sit, fingertips on a laptop, reading facebook posts from my lovely 16 year olds who are preoccupied with their clothes and shoes and parties and exams completely oblivious to R and others like him. I don't suppose I am all that different. But I should be.

Photo courtesy of a friend (Udo Wiegartner)

a walk in the park

2009-06-06T12:49:00.003-11:00

The light was unimaginably perfect tonight. Wish I had brought my camera. The park was bathed in gold.

A man played his guitar for some children who draped themselves over concrete benches while nearby girls preened long tendrils of hair and smoked cigarettes on the lawn. Sandals and dresses and ice cream cones and dogs on leashes and a pace that reminds me it is June.

Lovely.

emaciation vs. indulgence

2009-06-04T10:34:00.010-11:00

There are a lot of skinny people in New York City, which as most readers will concur, is not a common phenomenon in the United States of America. Yesterday was the annual commencement for the wee people at the church "Day School." Proud parents watched their children parade around the neighborhood, sing songs, and receive some kind of accomplishment certificate (the director tried to explain why it was not a graduation certificate, but this went over my head). All the moms and dads looked great. Right out of a magazine, great. Fab shoes and suits and dresses and diamonds. One perk to my neighborhood: despite the fact that I live along designer ally, I never feel judged for wearing mismatched athletic gear and a baseball cap. But I digress from my observations... skinny New Yorkers...

My friend Mary got married a few years ago and told me she decided to to a Weight Watchers support group as she tried to thin down for a slim wedding gown. This was somewhere in the Carolinas and she recalls walking in and saying to herself, "Wow! These women are FAT!" She has lived in my neighborhood here in New York for awhile now and recently decided to return to Weight Watchers to lose some post-baby fat. When she walked into the support group this time, she silently exclaimed, "Wow! These women are skinny!" In a place like Miami, Florida, you go into Weight Watchers to save yourself from a heart attack. In New York City, you try to get your hip bones and collar bones to protrude more dramatically.

This city is full of indulgence (believe me, I will be lucky if I get out of here without a double chin!), and yet, many women still manage to look emaciated. This lonely endeavor must be torture. After living in Zambia, both extremes, overindulgence and intentional starvation, seems especially strange. You cannot get two more radically divergent worlds than New York City and rural Zambia.

You know what I miss? Today I miss waking up in the morning and pulling on the same skirt I wore most days, putting my hair in a pony tail and going out the door without much of a glance in the mirror. In the last 6 months I cannot tell you how often I have said to myself, "I really need to get a full length mirror." And for what? To make sure my outfit creates an illusion of slenderness or to make sure this pair of shoes or that pair of shoes looks nice with the cuff of my trousers. Blah.

I included a picture of me cooking in Zambia to remind us all of what life used to be like... when the power goes out and the neighbor boys set fire to the leaves at the base of your tree, you take advantage of the heat. Cooking over the open flame.... ahhh, those were the days.

I heart NYC

2009-06-01T12:39:00.006-11:00

The pic says it all. Winter was awful this year, but I have concluded that winter is just awful in general: darkness by 4 o'clock in the afternoon, frigid weather that numbs your guts, and a sour malaise that descends over all of us that would rather be hibernating.

But something happens in spring. Restaurants drag their tables and chairs out onto the sidewalk, refreshing beverages appear on menus, and sun dresses come out of the closet. Today I met a friend for lunch in the Village and we both faltered when Victor Garber walked by. Silly, starstruck fools.

Sometimes I think life sucks. Even for us spoiled, privileged folks. But a blue sky and sunshine is for free. And worthy of devoting just a smidgeon of my heart toward gratitude. Selfish little heart that I have. Today I said goodbye to an old job, hello to a new job, and continued to mash around options for my next job (I wonder if I will ever cease to be a brooder?). And now I am off to meet some friends for dinner. This is a great city. An outstanding city, actually. So, I toast thee, NYC on this late spring evening!

stinking thinking

2009-05-28T13:16:00.008-11:00

lesson for the day: being tired is better than being crazy

p.s. how great is this picture? holy kitty cat.

a few random nothings

2009-05-26T08:32:00.009-11:00

You never really know just how dirty your windows are until you wash them.... or when window washers come and wash them for you. I am sitting at my desk in my apartment and I keep getting distracted by the VERY CLEAR view. Nice work window-washer guys!

The clouds are thick and heavy this afternoon, but it is hotter than hades. I am going on a run with my neighbor Millie and I might expire in the process. I am dreading it already.

My last post was a bit drear (there have been some 'blah' days lately) and I happened to be highly stressed at the moment. Not the "I have cancer" stress, but "I am transitioning into a new job and am contemplating other positions and a bunch of other stuff that one just doesn't post on public sites" stress. But there have been some lovely moments worthy of sharing.

Church is full of characters, for better or worse. Usually worse. No, that is mean. And really isn't true. There are fantastic people left and right. On Sunday afternoon I visited with the father of a baby I baptized recently. He shocked me as his eyes filled with tears as he described the gratitude he felt for being laid off these last 5 months. He and his wife never planned it, but he has been a stay-at-home dad for most of his baby girl's young life and he said he wouldn't change it for anything. He says his daughter has taught him more about a capacity for love in these last five months than he had ever thought possible in his entire life. Very sweet.

On Sunday morning I stumbled upon a man standing in the columbarium of our church where he was talking with his wife--her ashes are hid behind a pretty stone placard along one wall. He looked up at me as I walked through and said, "My Ann was a good girl."
"She must have been" I smiled.
His smile disappeared as he shuffled away and reminded me as he went "I miss her every day you know."
I said nothing because nothing was all I had at the moment. His Ann has been gone 7 years now. That is a long time to miss someone.

I went hiking in the Catskill's on Monday and this picture is of little Martha, one of my hiking companions. She is at that perfect age where she is full of wonder and spunk and fun and still thinks boys are annoying. I love this picture. Her little back curved in perfect submission to comfort and that boulder beneath her. Gotta love being a kid-- when finding old rusty bear traps in the woods and eating cheese filled pretzels are all the delight you need in a day.

P.S. Remember the film "Dirty Dancing"? It was supposed to take place in the Catskill's.... little known fact... small camps and resorts were popular getaways for New Yorkers and although not as popular now, they can be seen as you wind your way through the area.

Sometimes...

2009-05-25T14:01:00.006-11:00

Sometimes you have to run until your body hurts more than your heart.

Sometimes you have to catch frogs in your hands and fish in bottle to remember the wonder of being a kid isn't that far gone.

Sometimes you gotta notice the man sleeping on the bench, the woman pregnant and abandoned, and the man lingering in front of the grave of his wife to remember that life can be cruel.

Sometimes you've got to read poetry and novels and watch a brave performance and hold the fingers of a baby and drink a tall glass of lemonade on a hot day to remember that life can be astonishingly beautiful.

And sometimes you just need to do a load of laundry, take a bath, and go to bed.

Some highlights from the past week

2009-05-18T05:25:00.008-11:00

Went to a photography exhibit of Richard Avedon on Saturday. As I read about his career post- WWII I was struck by a description of his colleagues at Vogue magazine. The careers of designers from Dior and fashion editors from Harper's Bizarre were called legendary. Legendary.

I had never heard of any of the names listed.

Perhaps this speaks to my lack of sophistication. Or, perhaps it speaks to the ease with which some people offer the title. I walked home from the art museum behind a woman wearing spectacularly tall red patten leather shoes and an immaculate coiffure. She swayed with perfect undulation and peered carefully into the windows of designer stores along Madison Avenue. Perhaps she knew some of the "legends" mentioned at the exhibit.

Call me crazy, but my legends include much more valor and much less fashion. These designers are brilliant in their own right, but legendary? I am not convinced.

Highlights from the week: my cousin Tonya Lynne came to visit, which was great fun. I got to see my friend Kristin from Norway (pictured here with the "Naked Cowboy" in Times Square). I celebrated my birthday with friends new and old, sang some karaoke (dressed up 80's style), went to the philharmonic and an amusing little piece of British theater. Played softball last night for the first time (church league) and had two major "star sightings": Hugh Jackman and Woody Allen. All in all, a pretty nice week.

30 things in my 30th year

2009-05-10T17:29:00.004-11:00

1) started the year by holding a baby chimpanzee
2) ate caterpillars
3) swam with a whale shark off the coast of Mozambique
4) drank coffee in a village in the Doi Sutep Mountains in Thailand
5) received a marriage proposal from a prince in Lesotho
6) sobbed and sobbed as I left the continent of Africa
7) sung Christmas Carols on Park Avenue at Christmas time
8) was “sharing” in my nephew’s kindergarten class
9) baptized a baby for the first time and 30th time
10) read my first book published by a friend
11) tried my hand at documentary filmmaking
12) personal guest of the organist at the Messiah at Carnegie Hall
13) chatted with the ambassador to Malawi and the former ambassador to Greece in the same day at church
14) road on the back of a motorcycle in Bali
15) mastered NYC transit system.... mostly
16) stayed in a 5 star hotel for the first time in my life
17) fell in love
18) began a yoga fettish
19) spent my first Christmas alone
20) played Settler’s of Catan on two continents and 4 countries
21) went on a date with an opera singer
22) had malaria
23) became addicted to facebook
24) learned to appreciate hot showers, fast internet, and clean running water
25) returned to consumer-land with far too much ease
26) hung out on a beach with penguins
27) watched the world’s economies falter from South Africa
28) discovered the genius of the haiku
29) smoked cloves with my good friends from Princeton again
30) realized at 11:55 p.m. May 10th that year 30 may have been the best year of my life thus far

A PTS Reunion

2009-05-01T09:42:00.012-11:00

Princeton, New Jersey looks like a make-believe town. I never felt this way when I lived there, but when I return to visit, I usually can’t put my finger on it exactly, but it feels strange. Today as I walked along one sidewalk lined with quaint stone colonial homes and picture-perfect dogwoods and cherry trees, I decided, “This place doesn’t feel real.” Princeton is an idyllic place filled with well-groomed yards, towering deciduous trees, smartly dressed intellectuals with book-bags in tow, and gobs of families parading on foot toward their favorite cafe on Saturday mornings. I was in a consignment shop with my friends Becky and Emily and laughed when I heard Bob Marley singing about resistance on the sound system overhead. Seemed rather inconsistent with the locale.

I returned to Princeton last night for a mini-reunion of good friends from seminary. We ate and drank on the Roberts and Tennent lawn with a few rousing games of “stick” and delighted in all kinds of nerdy and more meaningful conversations. It felt good to be with these old friends, but I was reminded that time has a way of distancing us from special seasons of life whether we like it or not. Our gathering brought friends from as far as Seattle, Chicago, Glasgow, and a small town in Texas whose name escapes me at the moment. It was fun to see Eric and David and reminisce about working with the junior high kids at a Presby church in Montclair.

It was good to drink some sangria with pals who are now pursuing PhD’s and ministering in churches (weird how many pastors I know) – the same people with whom I cursed summer Hebrew and played flag football.

And now I will return to New York City. I am tired. I helped host a delegation of 5 from Zimbabwe last week, but hosting can be taxing. I was in charge of rounding up appropriate gifts for our visitors and accompany them on excursions around the city. It was interesting to begin to learn some of the differences between Zambian and Zimbabwean culture and some of the subtle similarities made me miss living in Kitwe where chitenge and dancing and bartering and sunshine are typical fare.

I get a couple of weeks off in June and I am ready for a break. Will go home and be with the fam, which will be fun. My dad is already planning a fishing trip and perhaps a day at the beach. Sounds good to me. I’m going to find some delicious books to read and lay around with my nephews (unless they insist on trips to the pool or the library or t-ball or something).

Happy RAINY Friday!

Good day, sunshine!!!

2009-04-26T08:56:00.016-11:00

Two of my favorite high school students Emma Jenkins and Elena Juliano came into the city yesterday for a gal's day out. Key phrase: DAY OUT!!! It is warm and sunny in beautiful New York, so we did a lot of walking along the Hudson River. Played at the Chelsea Pier, ate at a fab little cafe and topped it off with a bit of shopping. Three pretty girls, sunglasses, and a mission: we all brought our cameras and chose a theme for the day.

We took pictures all afternoon, creatively finding our theme in the city. Emma chose "culture," Elena chose "music," and I chose, "blue.

Here are a few of my "blue" discoveries:

I worked with the youth group at the Presbyterian Church of Upper Montclair when I was at Princeton and these two lovely ladies were some of the girls I mentored. Yes, those were the days.... breaking my rib while mattress surfing at the winter retreat, cracking my skull on a pew in the pitch dark while playing Berlin Wall, weird food games that I never really want to do again in my life... and so much more. Mostly enjoying the privilege of knowing these young people in ways that really matter. I tried to describe my job to a friend I met in Zambia. Perhaps you remember him from past bog postings?! Dear Scott from Vancouver B.C. After stumbling through a complex definition of pastor, I finally ended up with this: "Basically my job is to love people. Yep. Love people. Attend to the work of God in the world and love people."

Now that is a good job description.

A New Discovery

2009-04-23T00:51:00.009-11:00

If a person were to get up early on a sunny Thursday morning to go on a run in Central Park, but were enough out of shape that they needed to do quite a bit of walking (a.k.a. ME), a new discovery may arise: lots of New Yorkers are crazy about their dogs (key word, crazy). I was surprised at the friendly dynamic this morning (had four hello's by the time I was finished- again- likely has more to do with the fact that it was sunny and I was moving at a leisurely pace), but I was even more surprised when people began talking on behalf of their dogs. Yes, you read correctly. "O, hello lady... you are just so interesting!"

That is supposed to be the dog talking. One woman began to tell me how her dog felt at the moment we crossed paths. "O he is so embarrassed right now. Just so embarrassed. Look how sorry he is for cutting in front of you."

Is it true? Can people actually speak on behalf of the emotional state of their dogs?

The other funny thing is that only about half the dog-owners obey the leash law. This is probably a good thing... poor dogs need to run around. But this creates a special costume that this particular tribe of New Yorkers all wear. Bright, sturdy leashes are thrown around everyone's shoulders and each carry a wad of plastic bags to use to pick up after their dogs.

I like it. This is a very friendly tribe. Perhaps a little weird at times, but a good lot. I will have to do some more experimenting and meet more of these people.

CHURCH MARM!?!

2009-04-19T14:17:00.018-11:00

Today has been a major church day. Preached at two morning services.... Made some jokes, people laughed. This always feels good. It feels lame to try to connect with people when they give you blank stares in return, so today was a good one. Check out www.mapc.com this week and click on the audio version of my sermon entitled "Peace? Unity? Bah! Humbug!" if you want to listen. Yes, a reference to good ol' Dickens. Which, by the way is very hard to read as my friend Rochelle reminded me this week. I like the made-for-TV BBC versions of Dickens instead.

But I digress. I fully felt like a CHURCH MARM tonight. Yep, the evening service is small and I am the only pastor in the place, so I have to get everything ready... communion, offering plates, candle lighting, etc... I laughed out loud at the thought: future spinster, lighting candles in old cathedrals for the rest of her life. But the thought was fleeting.

Yesterday was fabuloso, fabuloso. Yes, that is two fabuloso's. First, went to dim sum for a birthday party and then on a crazy scavenger hunt all over Chinatown and Little Italy that involved actors playing characters we had to approach throughout the city (it was fictitious mafia scenario we had to solve that literally ended in an undercover cop arresting "Bunny" (one of the actors) in a bar in the Village! How fun is that?!? I then went out for margaritas and mexican food with a girlfriend because it was that kind of night.

Yesterday was beautiful. Blue-sky and flowers and trees blooming everywhere. People are sneezing and sniffling all over the city, but no one cares! Enough hibernation for one season! Bring on the good weather!

The guy on the left was a crazy Russian Italian (an actor that came slinking out of a restaurant) and insisted I was working for the FBI. He gave all of us tips on "how to be smooth" since government spies were everywhere and then tried to get us to order Russian brides from his personal website (a side business I guess). Hilarious!

Hip to be square

2009-04-16T05:02:00.009-11:00

I WANNA KNOW WHAT LOVE IS....
I WANT YOU TO SHOW ME....

Holy Moly. I have got eighties music on the brain. I am supposed to be listening to recorded sermons all day (for a preaching award the church is giving out), but approximately every 9 minutes, a new tune comes into my head.

And all I wanna do is pull on a pair of hot pink tights and go leaping around Central Park with a boom box (if I still had one) and rock out to some power ballads and a few rock and roll tunes the Carnies used to listen to at the Clark County Fair. Is "Carnie" a politically correct term?! I was always a little scared of, and slightly drawn to, these thin, tattooed world-wearied men with Camel cigarettes hanging from the corner of their mouths.

Here's to you, Carnies of my dreams, a little Bon Jovi to bring us back to the good ol' days:

I ain't got a fever got a permanent disease
It'll take more than a doctor to prescribe a remedy
I got lots of money but it isn't what I need
Gonna take more than a shot to get this poison out of me
I got all the symptoms count 'em 1,2,3....

...Your love is like bad medicine
Bad medicine is what I need
Shake it up, just like bad medicine
There ain't no doctor that can
Cure my disease...

A week in the life....

2009-04-13T10:13:00.012-11:00

Went to Chinatown today to pick up some gifts for the Zimbabwe delegation that will be coming to our church in a couple weeks. I ate a heaping pile of Chinese noodles and veggies for under $5, so I was feeling pretty good about myself by the time I got on the subway to come back home. Walked up 73rd street beneath a bright blue sky and scrumptious white plum blossoms. The flowerbeds are full of hyacinth and Park Avenue is about to explode with tulips. New York City does many seasons ‘just right’ Papa Bear and spring is no exception. Went to Macy’s on Saturday and listened to an appropriately nerdy gentleman lecture on the spring flowers that adorn every nook and cranny of the place from eye level to the ceiling. I have ZERO pictures worthy of the scene, but I assure you, the rows and rows of live tulips and hydrangea were pretty dang impressive as I walked up the escalators.

I am much more into New York City now that the flowers are blooming, the weather is less bone-chilling, and now that I am working hard to ignore rude people.

A few amusing notes from the week: I walked home late last night after watching a fabuloso little movie called Adventureland. As I was unlocking the door outside my building I noted, “That is a Rolls Royce right there parked in front of your house.” Weird. A real live trillion-dollar car at my doorstep. Exaggerated, yes, but noteworthy just the same.

Interesting thing number 2: My friends Max and Millie hosted a Passover Seder on Wednesday. Two Jewish men and two Christian women, or ‘shiksa’ as we were lovingly referred to (Gentile women). The food was delish, the liturgy truly beautiful and meaningful, and we drank enough wine to cause some serious ruckus.

I walked past a bar last night where three swanky 20-somethings were sharing a cigarette outside. I happened to hear a portion of their conversation as I walked by: “Have you heard she is into all that ‘Save the Children’ sh*%?!” Man replies, “Well, I guess I won’t tell her about all the ivory I plan to bring back with me.” Woman replies, “No, don’t tell her. Just volunteer to bring an orphan back with you.”

I paused to soak it in for a moment. Ummm. Are you kidding me? Dumb-a*% kids.

In other news: I wore pink silk on Easter. Under the robe of course, but felt pretty darn cute for the post-service brunch. The last week has been really wonderful. Egg dyeing with the kiddos; Maundy Thursday foot-washing service where literally one woman wept as I washed her feet (humbling as all get out), preached with 5 others at a Good Friday service, attended a Tenebrae service (Latin for darkness) which ended hauntingly in silence as 33 bells tolled for Jesus’ life. And finally Easter day arrived. Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church goes all out for Easter: lilies and trumpets, unbelievable choral music. The place was packed and plenty of women wore fancy feathered and ribboned hats. Holy Holy Week!!!

On Friday I preached on Peter’s denial. It should be up on the web soon and I’ll post the link.

Arise and shine!

2009-04-07T11:21:00.009-11:00

I stole this picture from a friend, so don't credit me for noticing this sweet little word of encouragement. I am sitting here at my computer -- see pic below for the exact setting-- and despite the fact that the sky is gray and darkening by the minute, today has been much, much better. Some days are like that. Surprise. Out of the blue. A day that is just plain nice.

I poured myself a tall glass of wine because you can do that when you are 30, an official grown up, and there is no one around to watch just how full you fill the glass. I rarely do this, but sitting quietly with a glass of wine seemed the appropriate way to celebrate the end of a long day of meetings. Tuesdays are generally packed with meeting after meeting, which can be a bit of a drag, but since I didn't leave any of them in tears, it seems that there was marked improvement since last week! :-)

It's Holy Week, so that means church services galore involving candles, sad scriptures and redemptive scriptures. Life, death, and resurrection all celebrated in one week.

Arise: a mandate, a promise, a word scribbled on the Brooklyn Bridge, and a reminder that life goes on. Truly.

Arise and shine. Tis the theme of the week dear friends.

Hmph

2009-04-06T15:09:00.003-11:00

One long silver hair. Yep. I found one. I was drawing a bath tonight and while I was waiting for the tub to fill I saw something shiny out of the corner of my eye. I leaned into the mirror and to my deep disappointment, I spotted the tiny strand of stress and age. I found one a couple of weeks ago, but figured it was a fluke. But this is silver strand number 2. I ate a huge bowl of ice-cream tonight and crawled into bed early.

That is the theme of my life lately: too much ice-cream and a long strand of silver hair. Hmph.

Can I just say that I HATE being single at 30?!!? This may seem completely unrelated to the sentences above, but when you are having a bad day, these things are intrinsically connected. The novelty of being single has worn off. The whole dating-hoping-breaking up- rejection- starting over thing is getting OLD and I am sad. Please don't pity me dear readers for pity will only add to what feels like a very pathetic life. But maybe this will inspire me to get out. Cease adding to the ever-expanding waist-line and enjoy the city, meet some new people, and spend my time creatively. Yes. This seems good. My facebook page seems to think so anyway. Most of the adds on my wall are for "Mature Singles Looking for Love." OMG. When did I become a mature single? And why does this feel more like mockery than inspiration?

My blog postings are mega depressing lately. But I suppose there are plenty of chipper people in the world to balance them out. I preach Good Friday and I received some good advice today. A wise pastor suggested, "Perhaps prepare your sermon and preach it as you would if you felt healthier and wiser." I like this. And it seems very doable. Watch out congregation. I plan to preach the way I would if I was feeling healthy and wiser....

....and in the midst of all of this, I know God is present. Because that is simply God's way. On a bus, in the waiting room, in dark hours of loneliness, and in a jammed subway at rush hour. Not necessarily in the fire or in the earthquake or in the thundering voice of an emboldened minister. But in the whisper of the wind, the hands and smile of a stranger. The Spirit moves where it will.

In honor of our friends in Italy who are sad and struggling tonight, I bid you goodnight in proper Italian fashion, "Ciao!"

Some-Things-Pretty

2009-04-05T10:57:00.009-11:00

That was the goal. Go in search of pretty things.

Easy cheesy people. 62 degrees in Central Park and finally, finally, finally the blossoms have come. The grass is lush green and the fingertips of all the trees are painted red and white and pink and green. Aaaah, spring.

Some more of my favorite things from today: it started with little darlings dancing up the isle waving their palm fronds on this Palm Sunday, then a Bach concert after church, and finally a stroll in the park to find rolled up jeans and bare feet, bodies basking in the sun on every spare bolder or patch of grass, lots of sweet kisses and hand holding (moms and dads with little ones and lovers galore), a boy squawking hilariously like a bird to the delight of his little sister, blue sky, birds bathing, velvet green moss, and ice cream cones.

And then as I arrived home: these fantastic hands painted on the grate outside my door. Who are these mad street artists?! I love them! Today was a good day. Hope yours was too.

LIFE IN THE BIG APPLE

2009-04-03T16:45:00.026-11:00

I called the police tonight. One of those "non-emergency" calls. I was strolling home rather late after a surprise birthday party for a friend in Queens when I glanced up at the usually-abandoned Permanent Mission of the Ivory Coast. The front door was cracked open and the french doors off the second floor balcony were swaying gently in the breeze. The window coverings were still closed and the place was dark as usual, but the whole thing looked a little suspicious to me.

The dispatcher I chatted with had a thick Jersey accent and seemed annoyed that I called, but I felt like it was my duty as a good citizen. But calling the police in a situation like this is kind of like going to the doctor with a sore throat. You're praying you have strep just so you don't feel like an idiot when the doc tells you that you're just fine and should drink plenty of liquids. Some spy better be arrested tonight or I will feel like an idiot.

By the way, why is NO ONE ever at the Permanent Mission of the Ivory Coast? This doesn't seem very permanent to me.

My friends Liza and Debbie left today after visiting for the week. This fabulous mother/daughter pair go back in my history just about as far as most friends can. Liza and I grew up together and spent most snow days together in high school. We went to Mexico together to help build a house just across the border in Oaxaca and I recall curling up under a tiny blanket with her after our other friend Elizabeth threw up all over our bedding (poor thing was sicker than a dog).

Thick and thin people. We've got to hold onto friends like this.

This morning Liza and I got up early to brave the pouring down rain to take a walk in the park. It was worth it. Why you ask?! The daffodils. The brown skeletons of plum and cherry trees are finally blossoming and the forsythia could make me cry if I wasn't trying so hard to keep it together! Delicious. I love spring.

The gals did all kinds of sightseeing during the day and we met up for evening meals.

On Wednesday night we went to a new musical called "Next to Normal" which had me in tears by the end of the first act. Tears you say? Yes. Here is what I wasn't expecting: a musical about depression, experimental treatment for bi-polar, chronic illness, and the fracturing of a family after a suicide attempt. Awesome. What a cheerful, uplifting play. At one point Liza grabbed my hand and asked me if I wanted to go. It was a magnificent little play, but dark as all get out and certainly not what either of us were expecting. During intermission I watched a man contain sobs with his head in his hands and my heart broke with him-- a solidarity thing I think. Mental illness can destroy lives and watching it unfold on stage over several hours can be a painful experience.

On a much lighter note, we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which was a treat as always. That building is packed with beauty. I wish I could live there-- stretch my sleeping bag out in the new Greek/Roman wing and sleep with all those marble gods and goddesses.

I love hot dogs. I don't care how "low-brow" this makes me. We bought these dogs outside the museum and I did not feel one bit of regret as some advocates for the ethical treatment of animals distributed materials to the crowd around us. I am 100% supportive of the fair treatment of animals, but I dig hot dogs. Is this a paradox? An oxymoron? I have gone to school for a lot of years and I still have no idea how to use these words properly.

Gotta love the Big Apple. It is one tough city. A tough city that could eat your soul if you let it, but is simultaneously packed with sights and sounds and people nothing short of extraordinary!

A VISIT FROM THE FAM

2009-03-29T14:04:00.014-11:00

My sister Tamara and nephew Tyson came to visit for four days. They were great sports despite the fact that their lame hostess forced them to travel by subway at rush hour TWICE, which was just plain mean! And my sister is pregnant! Sorry Tam!

Tam loved visiting the pretty lady (the statue of liberty) with the inspirational quote: "Bring me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free..." and Ellis Island. Tyson loved the Thomas the Tank Engine section at Toys R Us and Dunkin' Doughnuts while Aunt Carmen was most thrilled by the big piana at FAO Schwartz. Fun. Thanks for coming guys! You are the best!

I love this picture of Tamara and Tyson. We were in Grand Central Station and they were enjoying the massive constellations painted on the ceiling. I find Grand Central Station absolutely delightful-- the movement of the commuters looks choreographed and the craftsmanship of the place is just plain impressive.

More friends are visiting this week, so stay tuned for more touristy pics!

A little bit of sun can go a long way...

2009-03-28T06:50:00.015-11:00

A friend gave me a handful of sunflower seeds to plant here in New York City-- a little experiment actually-- and as it turns out, I planted them too early. Yesterday I was complaining about my small pot void of any signs of life and my sister said, "Of course sunflower seeds cannot be planted in March!" I must have looked sour because she quickly said, "There is always hope. You have planted to early, but there is always hope."

Why do I write this? Because there must be a lesson in this somewhere.

I'm not much interested in dwelling upon heedless or reckless behavior. That is too easy. I am quite hopeless in this area anyway. I fall in love easily. I throw myself into adventures and friendships and new ideas without much restraint. But how about this one instead:

Winter is long. Brown earth and sky and the skeletons of leafless trees linger in NYC this time of year and spring comes late. Warm days tease weary, wool-clad city folk and every Sunday a fine old gentleman leaves the 9 o'clock service with a glint in his eye and tells me, "Don't worry dear. Spring is coming." I pause for a moment and think, "Do I wear a tee-shirt that reads 'Seasonal Affective Disorder' or something?" More likely this man is simply a wise read of people.

Life churns and rolls ahead rather obstinately, like the line across my forehead that seems to be deepening on a daily basis. That will be a new one to deal with: smile lines that become permanent creases. But these are the least of my worries and I won't wax poetic here about aging. I think me and this pot of seeds are about looking for a miracle. We could all use a miracle or two. And we all need hope to shout a little louder some days.

And maybe life will spring up where we least expect it.

Flood!

2009-03-24T05:15:00.006-11:00

Yesterday began with a flood. Literally.

I had taken an early commuter train in from Jersey (I spent Sunday night in Montclair after giving a presentation on Zambia) and arrived at my apartment just in time to wade through 5 inches of water courtesy of a randomly uncapped water pipe that flooded the 10th floor. Who would think that in NYC I would need to kick off my shoes, roll up my pant-legs and pound on neighboring doors to warn them of flood waters?! The maintenance staff was quick to shut off the water valve, so we were saved from a serious disaster, but it was a lively way to begin a day.

High blue skies in NYC today and the job hunt is on. Already have received "thanks but no thanks letters" but I gotta keep on keepin on. My sister and nephew Tyson arrive this evening so we will spend the rest of the week enjoying the city kiddie style, which will be fun. Toy stores, carousels, the park and dinosaurs courtesy of the Natural History Museum.

Life has been sad lately. But as Johnnie Mayer reminds us, "Bad news never had good timing, but the circle of your friends will defend the silver lining." And we all know it's true. I have some darn good friends. By the way, re-writing lyrics sans music really does not capture the magic of a song. In fact, it looks kind of stupid, but I have given up on looking cool. Long ago actually.

Keep on keepin on friends.

Sam

2009-03-18T11:23:00.007-11:00

It is a beautiful day in New York. Not a cloud in the sky and a high of 62 degrees today! Can you believe it? And yet, my stroll through Central Park was not especially cheerful. I talked for a long time with a friend who is going through an especially crummy divorce and her tears somehow struck a chord with some of my own places of sadness. Sure sucks when life feels out of control. And just as my fingers were growing cold in the chilly evening air and my slovenly pace was looking especially pathetic for a privileged white girl on the Upper East Side, I met Sam.

Sam came bursting out of a building with a big smile on his face, waving at me as if we had been good friends for years. His friendliness literally stopped me in my tracks and I looked around me to make sure he wasn't trying to get the attention of someone else. Sam is the doorman of a building at 5th and 72nd street and simply wanted to know if I was enjoying the spring weather. He took off a pristine white glove, extended a warm hand, and introduced himself. Now, this man probably has no idea that he made my day. If life allowed such things I would have walked over and thrown my arms around his neck with thanks. Sometimes the smallest gestures of kindness can renew your hope in the world.

The figure in this picture is stuck to the sidewalk near my house. And he reminds me of Sam. A pleasant surprise out of nowhere.

Why Starbucks should hire me....

2009-03-16T09:25:00.004-11:00

I was riding the bus home with my friend Millie today and I realized as shop after shop along Madison Avenue advertised "store closing" that perhaps my back-up employment plan may not be as solid as I once thought. My Fellowship ends at Madison Ave Presbyterian Church at the end of May and it is slim pickins folks! I found a job at the World Council of Churches in Geneva that looked awesome but before I had a chance to apply: HIRING FREEZE.

Yipes. This is the word on the street. Lay-offs and hiring freezes. At church yesterday my friend Kerry said a bunch of her colleagues at her law firm were laid off. Hmmm. Now I know who my competition will be. Who will be hired for the barista job? The former minister or the former lawyer?

The way I see it, attorneys have some things going for them: they are used to long, weird hours and offer total devotion to their employer. What I've got going for me: people skills. People skills and........ does it help that I have visited a coffee farm in Thailand that sells some of its coffee to Starbucks? Dang. Here is the major problem: NO barista skills. Nothing. Nada. Can hardly make a pot of coffee.

Since the attorneys clearly have some advantage over me here, perhaps I should keep seeking out creative ministry opportunities. Let me know if you have heard of anything!

Cheerfully Seeking Employment,
Your Carmen

A night at the Met

2009-03-13T15:44:00.012-11:00

Tonight I went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art with my friends Josie and Allison. We went to see a new exhibit of African textiles (mostly North and West Africa) and then go to a food tasting event that served "African inspired" courses. All quite delicious and nothing like the food I ate in Zambia. No nshima, no village chicken. One course was Zimbabwean collard greens, which were quite good and tasted authentic, but the red snapper on top, although muy delicioso, didn't seem very African to me.

There was a beautiful exhibit of chetenge fabric on small,brightly painted squares on one wall and the familiar, vibrant colors brought me right back to the small wooden shacks where these same fabrics were bought and sold in 1-3-6 meter units. You'd barter and bargain and finally walk away laden with beautiful fabrics meant to be worn, to be embodied. That is the beauty of these textiles: they are meant to move. To change in the wind; to take on new meaning as they follow the curve of a hip or drape over shoulders or are wound around the head. It is three-dimensional, moving art. Magnificent.

It was lovely and strange to see all of these very familiar fabrics on display in an art museum. These fabrics were a part of every day life- in the market, at church, at work, in the homes of the wealthy and in huts in the poorest villages. I danced with these fabrics wrapped around my waist, watched women dry dishes with this colorful cloth, watched it become a bag for groceries or a carrier for babies.

Here are some of my own chetenge pictures. Zambian textiles on display. Aren't these women lovely?!

A grand sigh

2009-03-11T15:27:00.007-11:00

I could use some 70 degree weather and a tall mojito. That's the ticket. A hike in the desert, camping with friends, a good conversation around the campfire and maybe some folk music from Central America played on a Bolivian "backpackers guitar".... Doesn't that sound nice? I want some hilarious stories and some stories of injustice that motivate us to "Be the change that you want to see in the world" (Gandhi). What's with me wanting a perma-vacation? The news is depressing, the job market is depressing, and despite the fact I am listening to that song that goes, "Give me the beat boys and free my soul, wanna get lost in your rock n' roll and drift away..." I'm just not feeling it tonight.

Over the weekend I was in Louisville, Kentucky where I spent four days with folks who just returned to the U.S. after service all over the world (teachers in China, Japan, Guatemala, and Sudan; physicians in Pakistan; ministers in Ghana and Ethiopia; development workers in El Salvador and Nicaragua; etc...). Lots of inspiring and heartbreaking stories and it was good to be able to share some of my time in Zambia with this eager bunch of adventurers. I took long walks in a lovely park near the campus where we were meeting and enjoyed the squirrels and birds and turtles-- a really restful time until the tornado sirens began (I have an irrational fear of tornados) and got lost in the woods. Aaaah, the comedy of life.

I am shaking my head because my blog postings feel so "blah" lately. Thanks for reading though! Perhaps more beautiful images will capture my attention in a creative way sometime soon and I will be able to share something provocative and newsworthy!

24 years and counting....

2009-03-04T14:22:00.002-11:00

I walked into the elevator this evening and joined an older gentleman that was holding an exquisite bouquet of red roses. I complimented his fine bundle and he explained he was bringing them to an AA meeting.

"I have been sober for 24 years and tonight is the year anniversary of sobriety for a friend" he said.
"24 years? That is amazing!" I smiled.
"24 years, 63 days," he said, "And the first year was the hardest."

I congratulated him as he departed and thought, "Gosh, this world is full of good people." I love that he chose such beautiful flowers for such an occasion. Don't get me wrong, tulips are beautiful and daisies a very honorable choice, but red velvet roses? He went all out and those mean something. Congratulations to both of you.... you strangers that have chosen life and sobriety! I tip my hat to your choice and I tip my hat to your love!

I'M NOT GOING TO WASTE MY LIFE

2009-03-04T07:52:00.007-11:00

A conversation I had with a colleague today:

Me: "I think you are worried about me."
Him: "I am not worried about you."
(insert lengthy pause)
Him: "I am worried you are going to waste your gifts."

If I had a dime for every time someone told me that I would be a rich woman. When I began talking about going to Princeton to study theology in preparation for work in the church many friends said, "O Carmen, please don't. Don't waste your gifts on the church. Go to law school. Go to Washington D.C. Do something MEANINGFUL with your life."

When I went to Princeton lots of people were concerned that I was becoming too intellectual in my faith. Some family members were concerned I was using my gifts in "mainline churches where the Spirit does not live." Don't waste your gifts there Carmen.

All of this has me thinking, "What exactly constitutes a wasted life?" I accidentally happened upon the blog of a 25 year-old Seattle woman who was just diagnosed with MS. A woman in the prime of her life who wants to climb all the peaks in the Cascade Mountain Range and dreads the day her healthy boyfriend walks away. What constitutes a wasted life?

I got news this week that the marriage of two good friends is ending. He has found happiness elsewhere and he has chosen to leave a pregnant wife. Doesn't get much worse than that. What constitutes a wasted life? This man has decided that another woman will pave the way to greater happiness and joy and satisfaction. He is walking away in dread of a wasted life. And this man is a fool.

So, here I sit with a promise to you and promise to me. I will not waste my life. It may not look orthodox. It may not look traditional. It may not look loud and powerful, but it will be honest. As honest and attentive as possible. I will savor and I will sacrifice. I will leap and I will love. I have a heart full of treasures: sights and sounds and people and memories. And yes, even hope. On the darkest of days, there is hope. Life is short. So damned short. And I am not going to waste it.

Therein ends the soapbox for the day.

Hello Broadway!

2009-03-02T12:13:00.006-11:00

I love this photo! Chloe looks as cute as can be with her eyes squeezed shut.

Excursions in NYC with friends are delightful. We ate lots of good food and last night went and saw a hysterical Off-Broadway show called "Altar Boyz"-- Boy Band meets Evangelical Christianity in a satirical little show. I honestly expected it to be much more critical in its social commentary. It was hysterical and surprisingly generous! The characters were really lovingly written.

Three days ago it was 60 degrees. Today it is 22 degrees.... ?!?! Weird.

I am supposed to meet some friends for dinner. Taxi please!

Wishing you well no matter what madness the weather has brought you today! :-) Cheers from New York!

SNOW DAY!

2009-03-02T09:04:00.010-11:00

My toes are cold and my cheeks are rosy red. I am quite satisfied with the last two hours of my life. My friends Tina and Chloe got snowed in here in New York, so we took a long meander through Central Park. They fly out later tonight and then I suppose I should do some work. Sidestepping some crazy sledders and avoiding the wind tunnel that is 5th avenue, we found our way into the heart of this winter wonderland. Took some photos of these funny looking statues adorned in white. I should have a name for this series. Wait... I am not feeling creative. If YOU are feeling creative you can name the series instead.

This was all very ironic because 2 days ago it was 60 degrees and I was taking pictures of the first signs of spring (daffodils and crocuses beginning to bloom in the park!!). And now? COLD. At least it was a snow day and snow days are good.

TIMES SQUARE

2009-02-27T12:08:00.014-11:00

There are some hilarious things about this city. Times Square tends to be a place for tourists and usually I don't spend much time where Broadway meets advertising and electricity in a sea of wonderful people from all over the world. But today I was with two friends visiting from Seattle and I was reminded again why people come to visit this particular part of the city. It is full of bizarre and wonderful sights and sounds. Waiting in line for tickets gives you a chance to study the visitors, camera-clad and full of wonder (and fatigue?), and I was delighted with what I saw. Hands in mittens holding hands in mittens as young lovers leaned in close. Aspiring actors passing out flyers and dancers stretching unknowingly on street corners while waiting for the light to change.

Times Square gets its name from the "New York Times" building that was erected just after the turn of the 20th century. I believe this is also the origin of the famous New Year's Eve celebration-- the newspaper threw a huge New Year's party and the tradition has continued every year for over a century now! Pretty impressive.

We ate lunch in Grand Central Station, which is a marvelous place, but also full of sadness. We sat next to a homeless man who slowly sipped an orange soda and struggled to pull up the sleeve his coat while some nasty tourists nearby chuckled uncomfortably.

He seemed especially lonely at that moment as dozens of people looked on as he struggled with his coat. If I was a better person would I have stood to help him? Or would I have shamed him? Insert a long sigh here.

CAUTION?

2009-02-23T11:30:00.006-11:00

Anyone else have the February blues? I am so tired of Winter. I bundled up and hurried out of work today to try to get a few minutes of fresh air, but of course the wind was blowing and three layers of clothing didn't cut it. I made it three blocks and then had to turn around and come home.

I am dying for Spring. Trying to be as chipper as possible, but just not feeling it at the moment.

Here is a lesson I want to learn in the coming weeks: I need to loosen my grip on life a bit. As my yoga instructor suggests, I really need to lead with my heart and less with my head. This seems like a very good idea. But it is tough to teach an old dog new tricks. Especially when the arctic freeze is chilling my bones! :-)

Here's wishing you a day full of adventure and glimpses of Spring!

A long weekend

2009-02-17T14:11:00.028-11:00

Did you know you can buy a time machine online?! I accidentally came across a website advertising one when I typed a web address incorrectly. The internet is weird. But it also is quite the gem. You can share your world with people ALL over the world and that is what I will do in this blog posting. This is a summary of my long, wonderful weekend thru pictures:

Visitors are the perfect excuse to explore and play!

And there are very few cities as cool as New York for exploring.

It was cold and windy, but we had lots of blue sky. I felt like NYC was on its best behavior for Udo, my friend visiting from Germany. Between the cupcakes, Valentine's chocolates, cappuccinos, and my favorite tea shop, there were plenty of sweets to keep us going.

We went to Grimaldi's pizza under the Brooklyn Bridge, went to Speed the Plow (broadway show about Hollywood-- go figure), and ate lots of good food.

I love this city.

a day in the village

2009-01-30T12:56:00.014-11:00

I am in a coffee shop in Greenwich Village drinking a mocha with a million books around me (very few things more soothing than this) where the sales support an organization that improves housing opportunities for at-risk individuals in New York City. This is an excellent income generator, but I feel slightly bourgeois sitting here sipping my beverage. Maybe I don't know what bourgeois means. Anyway, I brought two things to read with me: a commentary on Isaiah 40 and some documents I picked up from the Presbyterian UN office that articulate strategies for implementing the Millennium Development Goals, but neither are drawing me in. Instead I am eyeing some short stories on a shelf near me.

I like this place. I like what people are wearing. Funky glasses and wool hats. Corinthian columns hold up high ceilings and patrons look on with envy as two oblivious lovers sit enrapt with one another, palpable electricity igniting the air around them.

Isaiah 40 is a beautiful passage that begins, "Comfort, O comfort my people" and I can hear my Old Testament professor Dr. Miller speaking these words in only the way he could.... with that subtle southern drawl that cradles the words and the air that holds them. His musical intonation helped me discover the poetry of this passage in a new way and as I read it again I am reminded of how fresh these words of promise are for every generation. For our Zimbabwean neighbors, for the women in the Congo, for our new president, for me.

I walked thru the Union Square market and was amused by this gentlemen who earnestly gave free advice to those interested. I followed one kid who enthusiastically said, "He gave great advice. Really. That guy is smart." The smell of hot apple cider filled the air and despite the chilly temperatures, I was delighted to be out and about with my fellow New Yorkers.

It's a gray sweater day

2009-01-27T02:09:00.009-11:00

Some of you will understand this and some of you won't, but it is a gray sweater today. Yes. No doubt about it.

In my junior year of college I lived in a dingy, musty house that had been converted into apartments in the University district a short walk from campus. I have great memories of this place. It was the year I got in about 600 trillion hours of Yahtzee. And it was also the year of the gray sweater. I don't know how it happened exactly. It just slowly came on and before I knew it, I was wearing this sweater almost every day of the week. I'd get dressed in the morning and would think to myself, "What would make this outfit complete? The gray sweater of course." It was a misshapen wool cardigan that eventually needed to be patched at the elbows, but this did not matter. I wore it over pajamas. I wore it over dresses. If I had a date (did I date back then?!) no doubt I would have worn it. And today, I woke up thinking, "I need to wear a gray sweater." And so I did.

Today was an exceptionally long day and after agonizingly long church meetings that started at 8 and did not end until midnight it dawned on me, "Yep Carmen, you are now a professional religious person." No way getting around it. They even gave me a clergy card today at the Presbytery meeting. Hmmm. Clergy card.

My friend Ross from the drama department at the University of Washington used to wear a purple sweatshirt almost every day. It was one that he had worn since the 6th grade and he said it was a magic sweatshirt. He said it could actually give him the power to fly if it ever became necessary. I am pretty certain that Ross is about 60% crazy. And I love this about him.

On my way home in a taxi tonight the driver, who was from Yemen, told me that the world would be a safer, happier place if there were more strict rules. For example, he told me that in Yemen adulterers are stoned to death if they are caught in the act by at least two witnesses. He says this rarely happens in actuality, but the threat keeps people in line (or at least hiding really well). I pondered this for a bit, but quickly wrinkled my nose in disdain, paid the fare and slid out onto the sidewalk.

More happiness and peace in the world? Today I just needed a gray sweater.

Here are a couple pictures from Sunday. Some of my fav Princeton friends (aren't they good looking?!?!) came to hear me present on Zambia. Thanks Emily for the beautiful gift!

O-O-Obama

2009-01-23T13:22:00.016-11:00

I'm barely showered, spent the day in my sweats preparing for a class I am teaching at church on Sunday, and I finally decided to emerge from my apartment tonight to walk to a local pizza joint for a slice. I was bundled up, but didn't feel quite like a typical Madison Ave resident as I strutted down the street behind a rinky dink wiener dog wearing a cashmere sweater. But then again, the longer I live here the more I realize that even on the Upper East Side you can find every kind of person imaginable. I need to wear the sweats with pride.

It's been a big week people. I hosted an inauguration lunch gathering at my apartment on Tuesday and wept with a zillion others as the new guy got sworn in. If you haven't read/heard Lowry's benediction, please do. It is theologically rich and he prays a prayer that begins, "God of our weary years, God of our silent tears..." Doesn't get better than that. This guy had me at hello. By the way, I have been keeping track, and tonight marks the first time in over a week that I have opened the New York Times website to see a front-page article/picture dedicated to a story from OUTSIDE the U.S. Sheesh. I get tired of us!!

By the way, tis the season of fertility. Babies, babies everywhere. Babies in some bellies, babies at the breast, babies in the hearts and minds of barren women, and sometimes two at once. Twins are quite in fashion it seems and it is a gift to be witness to what truly is strangely mundane and miraculous. They cause problems, these little ones. They reveal much about us, they sap our energy, and divide the attention of lovers-now-parents. But as my friend Micke says, they have much to teach us if we would simply pay attention.

I'm waxing poetic about nothing right now, so I will quit. Wish I had some achingly beautiful pictures to share-- they seemed a dime a dozen in Zambia, but my eye feels hazy of late.

A Cold Day in Philly

2009-01-17T14:38:00.011-11:00

It is freezing in this part of the world and everyone around me is abuzz with the upcoming inauguration. Obama left Philadelphia this morning about the time I arrived, so many twittering passengers joked about catching a glimpse of our next president. We’ll see if Barak will live up to all the hype, eh? I spent the day with my friends Becky and Andy who are expecting a little baby any time.

Lately it has taken me a long time to find inspiration for a blog posting, but today provided at least 20 interactions that I found delightfully share-worthy. Taught an older gentlemen all about the free use of computers and internet at the public library a little after 7 this morning as a golden sunrise and a cup of coffee thawed my hands. Passing along info about newfangled technology felt pretty good. Then I sat on the bus next to a girl that is studying to be a Rabbi and we were fast friends by the end of the ride. I think we are going to try to get together in the next couple of weeks to drink coffee and read Torah together. How cool is this!?

And then there was brunch at a Jewish-Southern diner in West Philly and rich conversation with dear chums. There is very little in life that is better than good food with good friends. By the way, I still don't know what a Jewish-Southern diner is exactly.... kosher BIG breakfasts that include potato latke and pancakes the size of the moon?!

A Typical Friday Night...

2009-01-09T13:34:00.024-11:00

I've been slumming in my pajamas all day while working on a presentation I will give on Sunday. It has been fun to review video footage of life in Zambia and I was particularly caught off guard as I watched little old mamas make charcoal outside a shanty compound near my house. It has been months since I had seen these women and to be honest I had forgotten about them. Most of them are widows in their seventies who use the bark dumped by a local wood mill to make chunks of charcoal to sell in the market. I have to remind myself over and over again, "Work on the presentation Carmen" because I find myself enrapt in the material.

I went to the grocery store tonight and it dawned on me around 74th and Park Avenue that I was still wearing my sweats and tennis shoes and only looked slightly more put together because of a matching scarf and hat. I literally started laughing as I absorbed the world around me-- handsome men in wool suits and women in mink. I am such an NYC fraud... at times anyway. Actually, I love that people don't seem to be bothered about this one way or another. As I walked I came up with a story to tell if I was cued by a random pedestrian. "Why is a 30 year old single woman, barely showered, on her way to the grocery store in her sweats on a Friday night? Glad you asked. I am very important and cannot even spare a Friday night away from my important work." Erh... no one is going to buy this. :-)

I uploaded a video clip to Youtube... some images from a day in the life of Carmen in Zambia, but my stupid Mac is pretending like links don't exist. So, if you want to watch it, copy and paste people. Sorry!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b62VANDfSDg

A little ad campaign in England...

2009-01-06T20:07:00.007-11:00

A wee bit of controversy, eh? What do you think?

This would never fly in the U.S. despite the fact we value free speech. Hey Brits, you gave us John Stuart Mill, one of the early political philosophers that flushed out this notion... full freedom to publicly discuss any topic as long as it does not bring harm to another (or something like this?! I have 'On Liberty' somewhere).

This would never fly in Zambia either.

According to this advertisement, at the heart of faith is fear... Stop worrying it says. Yes, I have a sneaking suspicion that this is true for many people. Fear drives some spiritual quests and recruits some followers. But that makes me sad.

What do you think? :-)

A rainy night

2009-01-06T13:55:00.007-11:00

I walked home from yoga tonight on a slick pavement, cris-crossing the city blocks along the black licorice grid that evenly divides this city into neighborhoods and neighborhoods and neighborhoods.

This is not supposed to happen in Yoga, but tonight at the very end of class, the lights dimmed in this hot, packed classroom and my forehead found the mat as I slid into the comfortable "child's pose" and without warning, giant, fat tears began to roll down my face. No one was paying attention so I indulged them for a minute and let my whole body feel the blanket of sadness that curled around every inch of flesh. Maybe it was the acoustic guitar or maybe it was fatigue or maybe it was the picture on the front page of the New York Times of 3 young men carrying a dying classmate in Gaza...

I miss Zambia today. I miss my friends and colleagues and I miss the mangos and holding hands while we walk and eating with my hands and the birds that sing to us in the morning and the bats that lull us to sleep at night. I miss chetenge and singing and dancing and bartering in the market.

Tomorrow I preach at a healing and wholeness service, so I get to find comfort in the story of Hannah tonight as I prepare...

What a broken world. A sad, broken world.

A beautiful day

2009-01-03T07:01:00.007-11:00

I have heard it said that "designer clothes are overrated." I say, unequivocally, that these people are wrong. Now, before you sigh a judgmental sigh of outrage, let me assure you, I am not an advocate of purchasing$1500 pairs of shoes. Do we need designer clothes? Blimey! No! But are the cuts and fabrics superior in every way imaginable? Yes. I decided to pretend for a couple of hours that I am above the American masses who rely on Isaac Mizrahi for Target to outfit my wardrobe and visit Bergdorf Goodman on 5th Avenue (they are famous for their gorgeous window displays at Christmas). I carefully walked through 5 of the 7 floors and I admit that there was one little dress made by an Italian designer featured on floor 3 that I salivated over for a good three minutes. Picture a knee-length, navy Audrey Hepburn with a slightly more dangerous neckline in the most perfectly textured satin imaginable. Voila! Knock-your-socks-off beautiful. On my way out I chatted with some women selling purses and I think they were a little embarrassed for me when I laughingly told them that this store was out of my price range. One of the sales clerks had a fantastic Russian accent and I was curious to know how this woman with a stylish silver coiffure ended up behind the purse counter at Bergdorf Goodman in New York.

I passed lots of good-looking Italian tourists as I walked home and I think that Italians are generally fabulously good-looking people. At least the one's I have encountered. And they have one of the best languages/accents on earth. When I was in South Africa I spent a day with an Italian woman who recited a love poem she learned as a child and my friend Udo and I literally had to pause, gaping for just a moment, at the sensual words that easily rolled off her tongue. And just when my thoughts were lingering on beauty and my own shame for nestling back into consumeristic culture with far too much ease, I met an old woman on Madison and 59th who asked if I might help her across the street. I smiled broadly and offered her my arm and thought, "Do people still do this?!" Her pink cashmere gloves and the frail fingers beneath gingerly clasped my arm as we chatted about the sun and the wind. Her warmth melted my brooding and reminded me again, "O yes, this is beautiful. This moment just now." New York is full of surprises and full of beauty. The right kind.

Is there a broader juxtaposition between my world in Manhattan and Kitwe, Zambia?! I think not.

Yoga

2009-01-02T15:49:00.007-11:00

This is my new interest. Yoga. I like that it is called a "practice." The teacher said at the end of class tonight, palms pressed together in front of his chest, "Thank you for allowing me into your practice." My practice?! I look around the room feeling pretty good about myself. This man, this intensely fit, serene man thanked ME for practicing with HIM. I like this.

We got into this head stand position tonight that reminded me two things: one, I have no core strength; two, I think it is universally true that we should all turn ourselves upside-down once in awhile to get a refreshing perspective on life.

Handel's Messiah

2008-12-27T14:18:00.017-11:00

My friend Millie and I went to Handel's Messiah this week courtesy of our friend Andrew, the organist of this exquisite event. He kindly shared two comp tickets with us and we both got dolled up to go to the show. New York at Christmas time is magnificent for many, many reasons and tonight I was especially charmed. Perhaps it was the drunken Santa I took a picture with on the way to Carnegie Hall who was overly eager to have me sit on his lap. Or maybe it was the throngs of shoppers who still pause in awe of wonderfully adorned windows at Bergdorf Goodman. Or maybe it is the sacred choral music that pours out of every tall-steepled church in the city. New York knows how to do Christmas really, really well.

Tonight I bundled up after work for my “get-out-of- your-building-for-the-love-of-god” excursion. Very little snow here in New York, but the wind knows how to find every nook and cranny, every exposed piece of flesh, so I looked like a big, puffy marshmallow marching down the street. I fell into step with two people, about my age, that I immediately wanted to befriend. I liked the way they held onto one another’s arms as they walked. I liked that when they spoke of their friend that made a serious fool of herself after getting drunk and belligerent at a dinner party, they paused and sighed one of those perfect sighs of compassion. And just when I was thinking of how fantastic they were, I blindly followed them into a crosswalk and nearly got squashed by a furious taxi driver. Careful who you romanticize Carmen-- you never know who is going to get you run over!

Life is good. And this week should be full of amusing excursions. I'll keep you posted. Merry Christmas!

Christmas with Nate and Elaine

2008-12-26T16:07:00.001-11:00

"Working Christmas" is tiring. The services at Madison Avenue Presb were absolutely beautiful-- if I weren't assisting in worship I would have wanted to burst into tears throughout all three services, but I'm not sure that this would have gone over very well. The schedule: Christmas Eve family service (picture a zillion kids acting out the Christmas story- angels and shepherds, Joseph, Mary, wisemen, and lots of random animals) that was charming chaos. Then dinner with 3 lovely ladies from the church before heading back for the 11 p.m. candle-light service (picture stringed instruments, professional soloists, carefully crafted liturgy, and bells tolling at midnight). Then a party at my neighbor's house and finally a Christmas Day service. After the service I ran back to my apartment to change my clothes and pick up a few things before heading to Penn Station to catch a train to Princeton.

Last year when I was feeling very lonely in Zambia (this must have been November when I was still terrified and confused) I made plans, 1 year in advance, to spend the Christmas holiday with Nate and Elaine. And that is what we did. Had a fantastic Christmas dinner, drank wine, and caught up over a game of Settler's.

Elaine and I traipsed around Princeton, went to an intense Yoga class (something I am excited to get into), and finished off the morning with a cup of joe at Small World. A lovely Christmas holiday indeed.

P.S. Please forgive the fact that these are exceptionally "newsy" posts rather than reflective one's.... Herein lies the irony: there is lots to do, do, do in NYC. Harder to be, be, be. Fairly easy for me to sneakily get around trying to make sense of the Advent season in the U.S. rather than in Zambia! But that will come, eh?

New York City at last

2008-12-18T19:05:00.014-11:00

How does one make a graceful entrance into a new place? In a city like New York I suppose it doesn't matter. Manhattan proper averages about 70,000 people per square mile, so the comings and goings of one priestly girl on the Upper East Side matters very little, but this is the most fascinating thing about New York City. Brilliant and mundane events happen simultaneously at nearly every moment of the day throughout the city and most of us carry on completely unaware. This morning I woke up to a winter wonderland, my third Saturday living in the city. People work such long hours and tend to play hard, so the one sacred, quiet part of the week is Saturday morning. Even the taxi drivers seem to know the rule: less honking, less shouting, and a few moments of peace. I took a long walk in Central Park today and enjoyed the kiddos sledding and watching the most committed women carefully negotiating stiletto heeled boots on the icy sidewalks. I stopped by a Starbucks for a hot drink and absolutely loved the pieces of art that sleds and piles of coats and mittens made in various parts of the coffee shop. It reminded me of elementary school coat-rooms on snow days and for a moment I felt perfectly at home.

You may be curious as to my rationale for continuing this blog now that I have returned to the States. But as my quote from Pliny the Elder reminds us, “Out of Africa, always something new.” So there you have it, out of Africa, a whole new life to negotiate and while it might prove entertaining to you (this city is madness and full of good stories), it could prove life-giving to me.
These are pics from my apartment: a tourist’s dream by the way. My couch pulls out into a comfy bed, so pack your bags people. Come to New York for a weekend and we will be amused at mink coats and $600 pairs of shoes and go to the theater and eat exquisite food and try to make sense of this silly world together.

Highlight of the week: saw The Seagull with stunning performances by Kristin Scott Thomas and Peter Sarsgaard. Occasionally I forget just how good some Broadway theater can be. I wasn't mentally prepared for Chekhov and I believe Chekhov is one of those writers you must prepare for. A few summers ago I picked up a collection of his short stories and made it thru story number 6 before I needed to put the thing away for fear that I would succumb to a dark depression and find a hole to crawl into with a bottle of vodka and 50 packs of cigarettes. There was a point while reading I thought, "for the love of God, does springtime ever come to Moscow?" Sheesh. The performances were disturbing and absolutely enthralling. But tonight I found myself eating chocolate ice cream from the container, so perhaps I should lay off Chekhov for awhile.

I miss Zambia desperately and miss the pace of life in Kitwe. I continue to laugh at myself when there are moments that I still think I am there. When I "see" lizards out of the corner of my eye for example. Or when the litter on the sidewalk looks like packets of "Double-punch" (a cheap liquor sold in kiosks all over the compounds), but I am not in Zambia. I am living a very privileged life in New York City-- a life privileged enough for a great deal of brooding. And so there you have it: a warning. Some of these blog postings may be full of brooding. But the city is surprising and its beauty will force its way into these commentaries as well.

One last blog...

2008-11-06T09:05:00.005-11:00

This blog was dedicated to a year of ramblings from Zambia, so it really should end now that I am back in the United States. I arrived in Portland, Oregon on Monday morning and this week I have been soaking up the good life with my family. Yesterday my 5 year-old nephew Tate took me to his kindergarten class for “showing.” You know, this is where a child gets to bring in something special from home to show your class-mates. This was rather flattering, you know, that my nephew wanted to show off his “Auntie Carmen.”

I return to NYC just after the Thanksgiving holiday and look forward to re-connecting with folks from Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church and my good friends in the Princeton/Philly area.

I rather like blogging, so stay tuned. Perhaps your Carmie will come up with something new. Maybe I’ll get high-tech and sophisticated. Ummm, probably not.

Thanks for reading.

THAILAND IN A WEEK, Part II

2008-11-06T05:54:00.017-11:00

I thought I should include some photos of just one of hundreds of beautiful, ornate temples that decorate the city of Chiang Mai. One must remove his or her shoes to enter the sacred space and although the thick red carpet absorbs a great deal of sound, I felt like I needed to tiptoe around this fascinating place. Again, I am an absolute moron when it comes to Buddhism, so I found myself observing the monks and the gold statues much like a child -- with confusion and curiosity, even a little bit of caution. I wanted to burst out laughing when I saw my first "farang" monk-- a tall white kid straight out of an Indiana basketball game with goofy tennis shoes, a closely shaved head, and awkward, thick glasses. But I guess all young men are welcomed to try out monk-hood.

The food is delish-- 70 cents will get you an exquisite meal nearly anywhere. There are food carts filled with fried bananas, meat skewers, and iced teas. Amazing curries are a dime a dozen and there are markets filled with rows and rows of fresh fruit and every imaginable noodle/rice dish and other spicy delights. I basically ate my way thru the last two weeks. Know what is good? Sautéed Morning Glory-- not the flower part, but the vines and leaves. Yummy.

Brett, Shelly and their girls Acacia and Anna lit this lantern for me just before I left Thailand. This lovely tradition can symbolize one's prayers and good wishes for a loved one as they depart. The mystery of physics and fire (neither of which I understand) raise lanterns like these into the night sky until they are miniature gold flecks.

What a lovely week.

THAILAND IN A WEEK, Part I

2008-11-01T01:08:00.007-11:00

Chiang Mai sits at the base of the Doi Sutep mountain range. I spent two rainy days with my girlfriend Shelly and her friend Rachel in Doi Intinan National Park where Rachel has been doing research for the last several years. We visited a small hill tribe (chao khao) village where we had a few quiet moments under a thatched roof as gossamer clouds moved across the sky, swirling and carving out deep pockets from the lush green mountainside. Rivulets of water flowed down the hillsides, the steep thatched roofs of local homes, and eventually the geography of our wet forms as we maneuvered up a muddy road to a local coffee shop where locals and the occasional lone tourist can drink strong, dark brew. The coffee is grown in nearby fields interspersed with rice paddies grown in giant terraces. We were invited for lunch and ate fish soup and rice with some villagers while our host, dressed in typical hill tribe garb, looked on from a bamboo mat near the doorway. During a brief respite from the rain we walked to a nearby waterfall where the air was thick and sweetly pungent from rotting crabapples whose round, hard bodies gave way under our boots as we trudged through the dense undergrowth.

After a day in the mountains I spent one morning with Brett who works for CAM (Church of Christ Thailand AIDS Ministry). I joined him for a site visit in Doi Saket where his organization regularly tends to the needs of AIDS patients and their families. Made a couple of hill tribe babies cry who had never seen a farang before (white person), but didn’t bat an eyelash because this happened fairly regularly in rural Zam. One of the patients we visited was a thin man wearing a tee-shirt with a big yellow barbell on the front that read “POWER” in big block-lettering. Seemed inconsistent with his tired eyes and small frame. Today I went to Hope Home where Shelly volunteers. This is a home equipped to care for high-needs orphans and disabled children. Brett and Shelly have hearts the size of Texas, so it has been fun to see Chiang Mai through their eyes.

Last night I was at a Halloween party that felt straight out of American suburbia—good old-fashioned American fun in Thailand. Fetch. Could have heard the Star Spangled Banner and it wouldn’t have felt out of place. Interestingly, this gathering paved the way for some fascinating conversation about mission/development work in Asia. Am trying to absorb and synthesize various perspectives as I think about development in Southern Africa and I have concluded that nothing is simple or black-and-white.... I don't know. There are loads of successes, heaps of failures, and good intensions abound. I am no expert, but the last year has given me a great deal to think about. Lord Jesus help us as we negotiate this broken beautiful world! Really.

I went to a Thai cooking class yesterday, via motorcycle I might add. Motorcycles are everywhere and their noisy little engines remind me of buzzing bees as we take off at every stoplight. Cooking class started in a market, so we could learn all about vegetables and the necessary ingredients used daily in Thai cooking. We then spent some time in the fields of a local farm before making it to the kitchen where we were given a mortar and pestle to begin the first task: curry paste. Very cool, but lets be honest, I want to just buy curry paste in a jar.

Here’s a glam picture of me in my traditional farmer’s hat and a live-action shot. Made about 5 Thai dishes that will be fun to try to recreate in my own kitchen one of these days. Anyone want to come for dinner?

Thailand is beautiful. The women tend to be soft-spoken and slender and the men equally mild-mannered. It is a culture that prizes “sanuk” or “fun” and I am told that there should be an element of joy in all things.

Thankfully, I have found that a big smile covers a multitude of sins.

Aren't these wee kids cute?! The little one on the right was one of the dear souls that was scared to death of us ghosts. This community preschool is full of little one's who are affected by HIV, many of whom are orphans.

A LITTLE BIT OF BALI

2008-10-31T02:06:00.032-11:00

Some friends visited Bali about 17 years ago when it was still predominately dirt roads and small villages, but now this beautiful island has exploded into a tourist attraction chock-full of spas and resorts and shopping galore. Some friends and I stayed in the lap of luxury for a few days where the hot sun browned our skin and the ocean swallowed up the black sandy beaches (volcanoes are found throughout the island) at high tide. The sunsets were spectacular and Balinese food divine. I wandered to the Hindu temple pictured above very early one morning before any other tourists and did my best to stay far from the entrance, knowing that my knee-length, sleeveless dress was inappropriate for a visit. I happened upon two surprisingly eager priests who insisted on anointing my head and offering a blessing. I offered a bewildered thanks and gingerly retraced my steps back to the hotel, having no idea what the small grains of rice on my forehead were supposed to mean.

Two highlights of the trip included an excursion into more rural parts of the island, which captures, at least in part, more of Balinese culture. Religious festivals are regularly celebrated and one evening we followed a parade of faithful worshippers that were bringing fruit and vegetable offerings to a nearby temple.

But my favorite excursion of all was my visit to 9th generation medicine man, Ketut Liyer, who studied my hands and face, neck and knees before sharing some wisdom with me. I was utterly charmed by this ancient man whose kind, keen eyes and warm hospitality were a refreshing change from all of the touristy interactions I’d had with locals. He was delighted to find out that I am a “priest” and assured me that this was the right profession for me. He smiled a near toothless grin as he tried to find the right English word to describe me. He stumbled through, “Perfume (perfoom)...fragrance (faygwense)... and after conversing with my friend Becca who speaks fluent Indonesian he looked at me and said “Gardenia.” My mother’s favorite flower was the gardenia, so I took this as a fine compliment.

A FEW FACTS ABOUT INDONESIA...
--Bali is just one of 17,500(ish) islands that make up the diverse country of Indonesia (only 6,000 are inhabited)
--It is nestled in the Indian ocean with Malaysia to the North and Australia to the South
--The population, at least on Bali, is predominately Hindu (yep, reincarnation, karma, etc...), although most don’t practice meditation like their Indian neighbors
--Most Islands in Indonesia have their own language (Balinese for example), but also speak the common language “Indonesian”

The Kingdom of Swaziland

2008-10-15T04:57:00.035-11:00

Today we spent time in the Malkerns valley, which is absolutely stunning. Wandered up to a waterfall surrounded by lush green trees and mouthwatering purple jacaranda. Vervet monkeys danced in the branches while a cool breeze tempered the hot sun-- absolutely splendid--- you couldn't ask for a nicer afternoon.

This tiny, circular country nestles into its massive sister South Africa, but shares very little of its sociological complexity. I am trying to be diplomatic here. In actuality, what I love about Swaziland is that it shares very little of South Africa’s paranoia and preoccupation with safety. Don’t get me wrong, South Africa is stunning and awash with charm, beauty, rich diverse cultures, and wonderful people (and perhaps has good reason to be nervous), but I love that I can plop down with Swazi mamas without any pretense or suspicion while they sell jewelry or weave grass into baskets and rugs.

Tracy and I gathered quite the crowd when we asked some women to teach us how to wear proper Swazi headscarves. We received many ooohs and aaahs after we had them on. I looked like I was wearing a turban, which made me laugh and could almost glimpse the camel that would whisk me away into the desert.

We were hosted by a wonderful woman Hlobisle (ummm, lots of “clicks” in their language—very tricky to pronounce) who oversees an HIV/AIDS program with the Mennonite Central Committee. 39% of the population is HIV positive. Yes, you read that right. They have the highest prevalence in the world. Devastating. Polygamy is practiced by its king and I suppose in the rural areas as well. “Free Condoms” were everywhere. Hlobisle said that sex education is not good in Swaziland and starts far too late, but I know there are many organizations bolstering Swazi programs targeting HIV reduction. Everyone is affected in this small country—even if they aren’t infected.

Black Friday?

2008-10-13T21:55:00.014-11:00

While the major economies of the world were imploding, I was supposed to be laying on beautiful white sand beaches in Mozambique. Instead, the forces of nature conspired against me and I was down for the count like lots of other folks (except mine was a broken body). Got terribly sick with a serious ear/throat infection. Try dragging yourself to a clinic and attempting to communicate in Portuguese, "I CANNOT SWALLOW AND WE SHOULD JUST END THINGS NOW!" Thankfully, the doc was fantastic and hooked me up with some powerful antibiotics. My friend Tracy and I made it to the beaches of Tofo and the first full day it poured down rain, so we found some fun Swiss guys to hang out with while magnificent storms gathered over the ocean and provided a great backdrop to "Settler's of Catan" (German version), some local bead games, and local brew.
Wish I had the pictures to prove it, but spent one day snorkeling with whalesharks (magnificent, massive creatures that you really should google) and dolphins. Mama and baby dolphins circled our boat while we bathed in delicious ocean spray.

There is more to write, but as always, time is short. I'll give you the Swaziland update soon....

Babies, sweet babies

2008-10-06T04:04:00.003-11:00

Well, these little darlings could break the hardest heart. Spent some time with a lovely missionary family in Maseru and Nancy Dimmock introduced me to a local orphanage where I spent two days holding babies, wiping noses, changing nappies and playing some hand-clap games. New people are in and out of their wee lives and although they are clean and fed, they hardly have any stimulation and spend almost every hour of every day in one large room. O babies.

This pic is of me and little Jackson, the youngest of the Dimmock family, with whom I bonded this week. The Dimmock family is multicultural in every way-- get this-- when Nancy had her first baby (1985-- APARTHEID, Lesotho) her husband Frank brought home a little Masotho baby (singular tense for a person from Lesotho) who had been born to an orphan girl who died just days after delivery. They adopted this wee child and can you imagine the stir they caused when Nancy would breastfeed the boys in public-- one black baby and one white baby?! Amazing. Amazing, our fragility. We are capable of both incredible goodness and wickedness-- and beauty and hope emerges-- from the most surprising places.

In the mountains of Lesotho...

2008-10-02T01:42:00.013-11:00

How many kingdoms are left in this world? Can't be too many, but I happen to be in one just now. Went pony trekking in the mountains. Shepherds hang out with sheep and cattle on steep, lonely hillsides wearing traditional blankets draped over one shoulder with staffs clasped in one hand and small plastic containers of snuff in the other. Tobacco and other smokable vegetation are quite popular.

It was so nice to climb onto a minibus as soon as I arrived in this country and feel, for just a brief moment, that I was back at home in Zambia. The people are friendly and sing and drum on the bus (when inspired) just like in Zambia. I just so happened to be in this little mountain village for an annual ceremony that initiates boys into manhood (boys are circumcised at 18 here!). I got to dance with the mamas, watch the men slaughter a bull, turn my nose up to locally brewed beer, and watch the young one's cause ruckus all night. I was with a random Englishman for the trek who walked around with a stunned look on his face. We stayed up late into the night in our little hut discussing the world and theology and finished the evening with a game of "3 Truths and a Lie." This was amusing and he was shocked to discover that being a "Presbyterian Minister" was not a lie I made up for the game.

As always, I tried to upload a video and the net would have none of it. It's not even a big file! Lame, lame, lame. Someday you'll be amused by some short videos, but until then, some pics will have to do...

A trip to South Africa...

2008-09-23T21:03:00.029-11:00

I like the backpackers life. My friend Cheryl is one of those excellent planners who organizes the details of a trip well ahead of time so as to maximize every minute. I like these kind of people. They often see more of a place than a traveller like me. But packpackers tend to be last-minute planners and this serves one fantastic purpose: they end up exploring things one might not normally explore and have adventures with the most random and fascinating people. I love this. Yesterday as I stretched out my toes to bask in the warm sun along the Cape Town waterfront an ugly thought came to mind: "I have officially become a tourist and am no longer a resident of Zambia." I wanted to burst into tears and promptly made a list of all the things I love about Zambia. But it will break my heart to write it again, so instead, I will simply give you some words and pics about the last 2 weeks of my life...

I arrived in Johannesburg (lovingly referred to as Joburg)and after 3 short days, here is my wee little definition of the place: A massive edgy city where the elite minority live in electrified fences, tall walls, and hire security guards to protect their small enclaves from the outside world. It is a city steeped in fear where residents delicately trod on wounds of apartheid still gaping and bleeding, and yet, words of forgiveness and hope and a fierce pride follows quickly on its heels. I met wonderful people and while I choked on all kinds of culture shock (good roads, a variety of delish fast food, consistent electricity, AND drinkable tap water) I had a lovely time in hipster "Melville."

HIGHLIGHTS OF JOBURG: A Xlosa woman took me to her home in Soweto and gave me an excellent tour of the place and, a trip to this city is not complete without visiting the brilliant apartheid museum.

I then flew to Port Elizabeth: A darling coastal town that masks, fairly successfully, the radical socio-economic disparity that characterizes the place. I got to spend a week with my WONDERFUL friend Gharde (a friend from UMin in Seattle!!) and her very cool boyfriend Jaco. They introduced me to a world of Afrikaans as we visited beatiful Nysna and Tsitsikamma National Park. We stayed at a very cool backpackers place where we had a real "Braai" (Afrikaans for barbecue)--- mmm, delish!

HIGLIGHTS OF PORT ELIZABETH: Spending time with fabulous Gharde and her friends, getting a haircut for the first time in well over a year,zip-lining, eating biltong, and playing in the ocean.

And finally, sophisticated Cape Town. Only a city this beautiful would boast calililies for weeds. Springtime bursts from every rock crevice and mountain slope that surrounds this magnificent place and it luxuriously pulls up a blue ocean blanket filled with whales and Great White sharks, surfers and yachts. It is an exquisite, culturally fascinating place filled with startling racism, violence, and beauty.

HIGHLIGHTS FROM CAPETOWN: wine tour through Stellenbosch and Frankshoek, whale watching and laughing at the penguins at Boulder's beach with my darling German friend Udo, visiting Robben Island (where Mandela and others were imprisoned)and the District 6 museum. The trip was not complete without eating amazing food, hiking Lion's Head, enjoying the spectacular view from Table Mountain, visiting Kirstenbosch gardens, and lapping up sunsets with new friends. I've been trying to upload a vid of the cutest, most hilarious penguins, but it keeps failing, so forgive me for simply posting a lame pic (just doesn't do these guys justice)!

The following pics are some random shots from Table Mountain, in and around Cape Town, and one of Gharde searching for shells. I think she looks cute and about 10 years old in this pic. Don't even ask about the scarecrows--- just a wonderfully weird place in Stellenbosch!

Goodbye Zambia! Until we meet again....

2008-09-06T22:39:00.006-11:00

The hot season arrived seemingly overnight. One night I was sleeping under two wool blankets and the next night I kicked off the covers and slept only beneath the mosquito net. Wee Franky cat has found haven on the cool concrete beneath the spare bed.

This morning I woke up to a hot sun burning low in a copper sky. It was just after sunrise and the fractured light thru the mango tree was flecked with summer dust and alive with chatter. The birds that live in the banana trees like to argue with the noisy crows who eat strawberries from my neighbor Jenny’s garden and torment the smaller winged creatures that busy themselves in the early light. The sun and the heat, the budding frangipani trees and the magnificent lavender mouths of the jacaranda blossoms bring me back to my first months in Zambia when everything was new and confusing and wildly unlike home. Now, one year later, I can’t imagine leaving what has now become my home. I still remember the first phone call from the United States— I am almost certain that most of the conversation with my sister involved tears and sniffling on my end. How much can change in a year!

I went to one final “Fimbusa” last night, which is the culmination of a woman’s preparation for marriage. There was lots of drumming, dancing, and O so many shocking songs and role plays that would have knocked the knickers off of the heartiest, progressive westerner. I have very few pictures tame enough to post.

This is my last blog from Zambia. I’ll keep you updated on my circuitous travels over the next 8 weeks that will eventually land me in Portland, Oregon in early November.

Mushali Bwino dear friends!

2008-09-01T04:20:00.006-11:00

Stay well women of Kamfinsa Prison...

It has been a privilege to spend time with the female inmates of Kamfinsa this year. Some friends and family donated money to support a yearly donation to the female section thru TEEZ (the organization where I work). The inmates rely on the kindness of others for daily provision (prisoners receive nshima twice a day, but if they want anything else, it must come from well-wishers). The parcels included washing powder, soap, toilet paper, toothpaste, pens and paper.

I tried to explain this to some neighbor boys, sweet Mazungus from California, but they think that washing powder is a rather miserly gift.

These women didn’t think so. They danced. Everything is a celebration in Zambia, so as always, the distribution of items included drums and singing and dancing.

I preached a short message from Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, chapter 4, that lovely little passage that reminds us that we are all fragile vessels, jars of clay, tenderly and meticulously created by a loving God. The women were especially animated (Pentecostals would love this place) when I spoke of our weakness and brokenness and the hope we have in a God who forgives and redeems. There were a few women in the back of the church that looked on with skepticism and what I really wanted to do was go back there and sit down and say, “Girls, believe me, bring on your doubts and fears. This world is madness.” These women have been disappointed, abandoned, and every day they taste the gall of their own regrets. And yet, even here, God is present. Hope is a precious thing. Mushali Bwino dear friends.

Mirinda had her baby!

2008-08-23T02:16:00.017-11:00

Thanks to those of you that sent beautiful hand-made blankets with my dad to give to sweet Mirinda. The baby was swaddled in far too many layers (in my humble opinion), but Mirinda is rightly proud of her little one and was especially delighted to show off her little man in "American clothes."

The baby does not yet have a name. Traditionally, fathers name their children so we are waiting on Dead-Beat Dad to show up (still hasn't seen his son though he was born 5 days ago). I suppose I should be more gracious toward this man, but I am still holding a grudge (he proposed to Mirinda and failed to mention that he is ALREADY MARRIED). Hmph.

These pics were taken at a UCZ church in Kalalalushi where I taught my last class! Sad. In 2 short weeks I leave beautiful Zambia and I can hardly believe that this incredible season of life is coming to an end.

Showing emotion in public is not culturally acceptable (outside of funerals), but I had a difficult time not bursting into tears when my students stood at the end of my final lecture and began singing, "Twatotela ba mayo...Mwende bwino ba mayo" meaning "Goodbye our mother... Go well our mother."

I love teaching. Each class is fresh and new because of the wonderfully diverse students I encounter each week. The first class I ever taught was in Mazabuka "the sweetest city in Zambia" (named so for the large sugar plantation that sits in the center of town) where warm, hospitable, but very poor farmers welcomed me with open arms. It was here I was given my first chetenge, preached my first sermon in Zambia, and where my colleagues and I received cakes courtesy of a little mama (almost blind). I am constantly humbled living here. The generosity of my final class was no exception. As I was leaving the church the secretary stuffed 100,000 kwatcha in my hand (about $30) and insisted I take this for "transport money." I again had a difficult time holding back the tears. Next week I go to Lusaka to pick up my passport from the U.S. embassy and I will proudly use this money to pay for the bus. Aaaaah, Zambia.

President Mwanawasa

2008-08-19T05:10:00.001-11:00

The headlines in the paper this morning told us that President Levy Patrick Mwanawasa was in serious condition after suffering a serious setback in his health. He has been in France recovering from a stroke since the end of June. But this afternoon Vice President Banda announced that the president died early this morning.

With continued tension in Zimbabwe and subtle tensions growing here, I am reminded that peace and good governance is a fragile thing. In recent weeks parliament officials have given themselves scandalous pay increases. While the cat is away the mice will play. When I was in Lusaka last week there was a strong military presence in the streets which was rather odd. Soldiers in fatigues wielding weapons I’ve only seen on movies performed routine marches, but performed them in very busy streets during business hours, which was unusual. They were singing a song in Bemba that was translated for me, “Our hearts are hungry to fight.” I know that the job of a soldier is to protect the interests of a nation, but these soldiers didn’t make me feel especially secure.

I recently heard someone say, “What Zambia needs is a benevolent dictator.” My prayer is that a strong and compassionate leader will step up to the plate. Time will tell. In the meanwhile the nation grieves. This is a sad time.

Ntumbachushi Falls and the Mutomboko Ceremony

2008-07-29T21:08:00.027-11:00

I have very few good pics of the Mutomboko Ceremony to share. This pic was taken at sunset just after His Royal Highness Mwata Kazembe danced "The Victor's Jump" (the meaning of Mutomboko).

This dance is the culmination of a few days of celebration. Early in the day we went to the Luapula River to watch the royal family throw fresh game meat into the river to appease the spirits of Lunda warriors who died during the tribal wars a couple centuries ago. The event was dusty and beautiful and not without its own sadness. As we trudged home with crowds of locals we passed a trash pit where a boy was carefully sorting rotten sweet potatoes from less rotten sweet potatoes to take home for dinner.

The little girls in these pics were selling juice and scones before the event and provided lots of entertainment. I held their baby brother for the better part of an hour while drunken revelers stumbled in and out of local bars.

Lonely Planet and other guides, eat your hearts out! Or, at least, check this place out! The falls, the ancient rock paintings, the natural pools waiting for swimmers?!? GORGEOUS! And I have not seen them mentioned in any of the guidebooks. Shame. By the way, all of you marketers out there.... or IT savvy folk... I hate how tacky my pics are arranged on this blog. Lacking serious aesthetic attention, but if you only knew HOW LONG it takes me to upload these pics you would understand the lack of artistic merit. Sufficient explanation?!

Bana Mwana

2008-07-29T19:25:00.010-11:00

That’s me. Bana Mwana, which means “mother of baby.” I fell in love with this little tike this week. He has the best mouth and smile and laugh. He has a lazy eye and has trouble focusing at times, which ate up my soul as I realized that if this boy lived in the U.S. or if he was born to a wealthy Zambian family, he would likely have access to all kinds of treatment that could help him to see clearly. He was fascinated by my white skin and earrings and was delightfully content to sit on my lap, watching the world go by.

While in Mumbwa (pic from local cave dwelling that dates back a couple hundred years) I was impressed by a wonderful group of people that have been building a new UCZ (United Church of Zambia) church building, brick by brick, for the last 7 years. For the most part, people here are poor farmers and their faithfulness is humbling.

The class we are teaching has 20 students in it and this morning I was greeted in 6 different languages: Ila, Nyanga, Bemba, Tonga, Lozi, and English. I’m pathetic. I’ve got English with a smattering of Spanish and Bemba whereas most people here can speak at least 3 or 4 languages fluently.

Lately I’ve been thinking about the homogenization of culture. I was at “Arcades” in Lusaka this week, which is a strip mall full of South African chain stores. It could easily be transported to Route 1 in Jersey. Rich folk (who think they have average wealth) flit from one store to the next with shopping bags slung over their shoulders, laughing and chattering with their friends as they make lunch plans via cell phone. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the familiarity of it all. At Arcades I eat familiar food, see familiar clothing and connect with friends and fam at a local internet cafe, but there is NOTHING Zambian about the place. Have you noticed that this is happening in the U.S. as well? Strip malls with the similar chain stores make a small community in rural Idaho look like Salt Lake City or Atlanta or Minneapolis. Nothing unique. With “development” seems to come the homogenization of culture. Is this what we are coming to? Automatons driving our gas-guzzling cars to and from work and chain stores to buy and eat and consume, consume, consume all the things the magazines tell us are “fashionable”? Bleh.

BTW, they are called “Awfuls” for a reason. SICK. I went to a butcher’s shop in Mumbwa (it also sold drinks and some friends and I were looking for cokes) and a man was stuffing entrails into a clear plastic sack. You know what are weird to look at? Stomachs. Cow stomachs are brown and sort of hairy. Yuck, yuck, yuck. People are brave to eat these things. The man buying the awfuls smirked at me and said, “What, you only eat steak?”

Opani

2008-07-29T19:18:00.004-11:00

Basically these suckers are like small alligators. Their skin is leathery and snake-like. Some workers found this in a stream near my house and killed it this afternoon. My friend Muyunda is a Lozi and was eager to take this home and eat it as “relish.” This launched my coworkers and I into a hilarious conversation about what the various tribes are notorious for eating. The Bemba’s are teased for eating monkey and mfuko (mice). Muyanda sighed and said to me, “Aaaah Carmen, the foods we eat in Africa.”

Welcome Family!

2008-07-21T22:37:00.016-11:00

What's up with Ex-Peace Corps Volunteers?!?! My cousins Joel and Katherine, along with their darling little 2 1/2 year old baby Versellies arrived with my father in Zambia last week. We have had a wonderful week together and it would not have been nearly as adventurous sans cousins. Joel was especially interested in Zambian fare, so one evening we brought home some caterpillars from the market and some beer made from ground maize (CHEAP, fermented home-brew) called Chibuku Shake Shake. What a great name!

No, we did not let Versellies drink the Shake Shake, but she was a great little eater and even enjoyed nshima (the porridge-like staple food generally eaten twice a day in Zambia). I love this pic of my dad and I after trying the earthy-tasting caterpillars. They really arent't all that bad, we are just whimps.

We visited Chimfunci, the chimpanzee orphanage, which was just as fantastic as the first visit. They really are incredible creatures with so much personality.

Katherine is a secondary school teacher and was curious about the local education system, so we visited my friend Hamweenzu at a local basic school (Zambian version of elementary). The students are starved for materials and there are entirely too many little one's squished at each desk, but the teachers do an admirable job despite the challenges. My father was a physical education teacher, so was rather depressed to see that Hamweenzu has only 3 balls (that is ALL the equipment to which he has access) to use for more than 2300 kids' physical education.

On Sunday I preached in the bush and the visitors were treated as guests of honor-- seated at the front of the church behind me, the preacher. The children of the church were sitting on a grass mat at the front of the church when we entered, but they were "chased" to the back during the service. Just before I began to teach Reverend Chimfwembe and I invited the little one's back to the front to get their own short lesson and story.

The church is in a rural area and the congregation is made up of about 50 people, all very poor farmers, that looked fatigued and hungry. It was rather humbling to then go to a congregants home where a large traditional meal was prepared for my family. The generosity of the people I encounter constantly overwhelms me. Zambia is a place of philial love.

Drunker than skunks!

2008-06-29T20:46:00.017-11:00

In Zambia there is this great saying that I find to be proven true over and over again: "Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet." Everywhere I go--- kitchen parties, church, a ride on a local minibus--- I make new friends. People so welcoming (the exact opposite of my experience on the streets of NYC). New Yorkers would freak out here. I met these hysterical ladies at a kitchen party over the weekend...

The bride was Jehova's Witness, so there were no drums (which was weird--recorded music was allowed, but no traditional drums). In retaliation ("you can't dance without drums") lots of ladies snuck cheap liquor into the event and filled coke and fanta bottles with the fiery liquid and got a little tipsy. :-) I love Zambia.

Kitty Lost and Found

2008-06-14T02:55:00.005-11:00

Franky decided to take a brief hiatus from captivity and had me feeling like a dead-beat “mom.” My friend Micke texted me, “Don’t worry about the cat. Cat’s are like women: they need their space, but they always come back when their credit cards are canceled.” Ha Ha. The kids in the neighborhood helped make signs and hunted all over the neighborhood. Thankfully Franky showed up last night, beat-up, but in one piece. He was hungry and eager for shelter, so I suppose Micke was right. Rotten cat. Rotten Micke.

On the one hand, life has been rather mundane: doing a little teaching, playing a little Settler’s of Catan, and shooting a little film. On the other hand, there has been lots of sad things: the loss of a baby and a professor, spending time with women in the local prison is haunting (how does one talk about freedom and hope in a place so depleted of soul?), and my 17 year-old friend Mirinda, 7 months pregnant, is debating whether or not to become the second wife of the man who impregnated her. She doesn't want to marry him, but she is cold and hungry and sleeps on the ground at night. My friend Peg reminded me of this quote by Henri Nouwen and is seems rather apropos:

"Our faithfulness will depend on our willingness to go where there is brokenness, loneliness, and human need. If the church has a future it is a future with the poor in whatever form."

I'm not trying to be stupidly moralistic. I believe Nouwen is right.

Filming with Jane

2008-06-08T20:55:00.003-11:00

I have a new friend visiting from Britain and she asked me to join her for an afternoon of filming yesterday. She is putting together a short documentary about a family that lives in a compound here in Kitwe. I taught all morning in a local church and then rushed home for a quick switch of clothes and roles. I rather like the denim and camera version of me—it allows for a different manner of storytelling.

The girls dressed up for the occasion (as you can see) and were eager to be on camera. The family recently opened a brick-making business using some new energy-efficient equipment (requires no petrol, very little cement, and uses local soil that can be dug from your own front yard). The bricks are much more hearty than the porous ones typically used that crumble after only a few rainy seasons. The hope is that this business and these bricks will improve the quality of life for the broader community.

OPPORTUNITIES FOR GIVING

2008-06-06T02:08:00.013-11:00

Principles that guide “good giving” aren’t as straightforward as you might think, so allow me to share some basic lessons I have learned in the last six months!

THREE BASIC RULES IN GIVING:

1. EFFECTIVE GIVING CREATES CAPACITY, NOT DEPENDENCY!

GOOD GIVING: Invest in projects, people, and organizations that promote self-sustaining activities. Empower people. Equip people. Avoid making contributions that are not usable or replaceable without your assistance.

WHERE WE MESSED UP: American clothing donations flooded Zambian markets in the 1990’s and despite good intentions, this served to ruin the Zambian textile industry. Garments produced locally could not “compete” with free used clothing that poured in from abroad. When we give we must be careful that our donations are not doing more harm than good! Buy local and encourage others to support local businesses!

2. LET THOSE RECEIVING AID TELL YOU WHAT THEY NEED!

GOOD GIVING: This notion may sound very obvious, but I’ve seen countless examples of people giving, albeit generously, items that were never needed in the first place.

WHERE WE MESSED UP: I spoke with a Malawian physician recently who laughed as she recalled an American church that came to do a short-term mission project in her hospital. They brought dozens of boxes of old medical equipment that are now collecting dust in a corner of the hospital. Why, you ask? Because the equipment is simply not usable in their context! It was not what they really needed.

The hospital focused on delivering healthy babies to healthy mothers. The life expectancy of the average Malawian is 35. Disease and malnutrition are pressing issues and the American church failed to address the real needs of Malawians in that community. Let those receiving aid tell you what they need!

For more info on Malawi, check out info on the World Health Organization website: http://www.who.int/countries/mwi/en/

3. THINK PRACTICAL, NOT EXTRAVAGANT!

GOOD GIVING: Have you seen the fantastic statistics on micro-lending? This is effective giving. Women in rural areas tend to be the recipient of micro-loans and these loans (often providing money to create self-sustaining, productive farms and small businesses) are improving community life all over the developing world!

WHERE WE MESSED UP: A wealthy church in Canada wanted to give a million dollars to support hospitals in Zimbabwe. They wanted strict control over where the money was spent, but in the meanwhile, they did not consider the fact that a huge lump-sum like this can do more harm than good. Corruption is rampant in nearly every sector of society (not just in Zimbabwe—this seems to be an issue all over Africa). Money was siphoned into the deep pockets of some wealthy managers and ended up failing to support local hospitals. “Control” by the giver isn’t the answer. The answer is partnership. Develop relationships with an organization. Find out the needs of the organization and together discover practical ways that you can meet these needs. Think financially small. Think relationally big!

La La La La Luapula

2008-06-04T01:44:00.022-11:00

Just returned from the rural Luapula Province where fishing, witchcraft, and cholera flourish. Local guides casually mention Archaeological sites from the Early Stone Age as if prehistoric rock paintings and tools are rather mundane and not worth much fuss. I tromped through rivers and waterfalls throughout the area and enjoyed a day off along the banks of beautiful Lake Bangweulu where curious fisherman drew their boats close to investigate the white woman lounging about in the sun, book in hand, looking very self-indulgent and bourgeois.

While I was in Samfya teaching a course in a small church that reeked of acrid ammonia courtesy of dozens of bats that dance in the rafters at dusk, we were alerted of a cholera outbreak in the community. Cholera devastates communities because they initiate fishing bans and bans on fishing means that people go hungry. Brutal. The minister had to go attend to a number of families in the congregation who were sick and suddenly bereft of loved ones. By the time we left about 30 people had died.

We traveled to a village called Mununga, which is proudly touted as the “heartland of witchcraft” in Zambia. People told me all sorts of stories about people turning into crocodiles and eating enemies and curses and charms and all kinds of black medicine. I attended my first exorcism, which is another story in itself, but I can offer the short version in one mass generalization: the West tends to psychologize and medicalize evil and human fragility whereas Africa personifies it. Demons and talking snakes and flying witches are a part of people’s daily lives and serve to explain all kinds of illness and hardship.

We stayed in a rather disgusting guesthouse where condom packages littered the ground and the stench of pit latrines lingered in my room at night. I wrote in my journal that first night, “We must be about two turns and a few kilometers from hell.” I had a good laugh when I found out that the name of this guesthouse is “God Knows.” But as my mom used to say, “Things always look brighter in the morning.” As we made our way to the church for our first seminar I had dozens of children following me around like lemmings. The toddlers were afraid and refused to get too close and I made some babies cry, but I eventually made friends with these small chaps. By day 2 we were playing “Nkoko, Nkoko, Chibata” (Duck, Duck, Goose) and by day 3 a massive heard of children were waiting on the doorstep of the church, ready to play with the muzungu when we arrived for our final day of teaching.

Interested in more info about wealth/health disparity in the world? Check out this website: http://www.gapminder.org/gapminder-world.html

Here are some pics from the last couple of weeks: mamas cooking nshima and villagers eager to have their pics taken.

Chimfunshi Chimpanzee Orphanage

2008-05-11T23:15:00.013-11:00

I admit that I did not have high expectations of this place. Maybe it was because all of the guidebooks say that Chimfunshi is nearly impossible to get to without a 4x4 vehicle and it is run by some rather grouchy South Africans, but this was not the case in the least! The road was not great, but worth every pothole! The family that runs this orphanage containing 122 chimps (mostly rescued from the Congo and the babies that have born in captivity) is very warm and insanely in love with their animals and the workers that attend to them are exceptionally knowledgeable. We watched them feed the babies bottles of milk and I even got to play with a funny little baby chimp who had a diaper on and a sucker in his mouth (see pics below). Wild! The animals, for the most part, are able to roam free on acres and acres of donated land, but they all find their way to the fences when it is feeding time.

Crazy “pets” were running around the place. They had geese, peacocks, turkeys, African Gray Parrots, dozens of little scavenger monkeys and a hippo to hilt. I am not kidding. They have a pet hippo (yes, the animal that kills more people in Africa every year than any other animal on the continent). “Billy” is insanely fat and lethargic and has big whiskers like the bristles on a plastic hair brush.

All in all, a nice way to spend one’s 30th Birthday.

I went with Peter and Cheryl Smith and their two boys Brendan and Jason (the Mennonites from L.A.) and Adrian, my favorite farmer from Cornwall. Adrian’s 50th birthday was on Friday night and Cheryl and I both share May 11, so we ate cake all weekend. Divine.

SPIDER!!!

2008-05-11T22:59:00.013-11:00

I’m no expert on arachnids, but I am pretty sure my cat killed a tarantula in my house on Saturday night. Sick. I came home from Teddy and Catherine’s wedding to find Franky playing with what I thought was a wad of black string on the floor, but to my horror, the small heap on my ridiculous red and white checkered linoleum turned out to be a large hairy spider. Disgusting. I don’t like to think of where that little thing had been living before Franky murdered it.

But on a much lighter note, the weekend was lots of fun. My first Zambian wedding was full of dancing and singing and a very, very long sermon (of course). Most of the homily was dedicated to people like me (those that are not married, but should be). Have I mentioned before that I get many strange looks from folks when they find out I am unmarried at “my age”? Amusing.

Chipata, Chipata, Chipata

2008-05-08T21:51:00.015-11:00

A sea of yellow daisies float on the golden grass of Zambia’s savannah this time of year. Talk stalks of brown maze whisper and crackle in the breeze. The rainy season is now over and as the bus zigs and zags along the ribbon of tarmac from Lusaka to Kitwe I admire the thatched roofs and mudbrick homes of villages dotting the countryside where women pound maze in mortars, or “Ibende,” and cook nshima over charcoal fires. I prefer the simplicity of rural village life where subsistence farming generally ensures daily food for every person in the community, but I live in the urban Copper Belt where mines provide the money for daily milimeal, consistent electricity, and contribute the constant plume of sulphor dioxide that crowns our heads in town.

The young woman sitting next to me on the bus sang Christian praise songs throughout our journey and occasionally opened her cell phone to check for text messages. “Jesus Saves” was printed in Bemba across the screen and once again I was reminded that Zambia proudly touts itself as a Christian nation. Perhaps, “touts itself” is not fair. A more apt observation: most everyone I talk to here claims to be a Christian. As a Christian from a religiously pluralistic nation I found my mind wandering to the humble mosque in Kitwe that calls its Muslim followers to prayer five times a day. I wonder what they think of being Muslim in a place where Christian pop artists croon love songs to Jesus on the grocery store sound systems and evangelists passionately preach to passengers before every bus departs the Lusaka station? Strange.

I have a million things to do today and I have run out of time, so please forgive this lame synopsis of the last 2 weeks: went to Chipata to teach for a few days before meeting up with a delightful group from Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church who were meeting with leaders from the Presbyterian church in Harare about a potential partnership and took some time to spend in Eastern Zambia as well. I found myself awkwardly trying to remember exactly how to greet mazungus from home (we shake hands and hug differently in Zambia), so I felt like a big dope as I fumbled with my words and my arms. It was fun to see Zambia through the eyes of new visitors and as I wrote them in a recent email, I am so glad that I get to live here for another 4 months!

P.S. How WASTED do we look here?! The road was bad people. Very bad.

Preacher Girl!

2008-04-17T00:09:00.014-11:00

Last night I had 3 friends for dinner: Teddy Sakupapa (SUCH A GREAT SURNAME!!!!), his fiance Cathy and Trust. I made Italian food. My neighbor is growing fresh basil, so I was able to create something semi-authentic. They liked the meat sauce, but weren't a fan of the noodles. This is a mystery to me. Many of my Zam friends eat loads of carbs-- rice, nshima, potatoes--- all in the same meal, but noodles? No way.

I love that any and every event can become an excuse to listen to Rhumba and dance.

North Americans, we should pick up on this. We should dance far more often than we normally do. Notice the chetenge around our wastes? This is also nice. I think it is somehow supposed to make dancing less seductive (for propriety or some such notion), but I think it's just plain festive.

At the last moment I was asked to offer a short devotional to a women's gathering yesterday morning. Now, I was told that this was an informal event, but was encouraged to wear my clerical collar. mmmm, does this look informal to you?!?! This was a 6 hour Bible study. 800 women showed up! Amazing. Most of the service was in Bemba, but there was plenty of dancing and singing, so I was happy as a lark.

Kuomboka Ceremony

2008-04-14T22:04:00.043-11:00

The floodplanes of the western province are gorgeous and filled with Lozi fisherman and once a year a whole bunch of tourists from all over the world.

After a 15 hour bus ride (yes, please insert "cramped" and "uncomfortable" here) we finally made it to Mongu, a small community in the rural Western Province where the Lozi people reside. I joined a bunch of friends (1 Candadian, 1 Namibian, and 5 Norwegians) for a wild weekend. Thousands of Zambians gather, all donning red caps (traditional Lozi color) to celebrate the annual migration of the king.
Yes, king I say. I thought he was a chief, but I guess there is a complex hierarchy of chiefs with one top chief who is referred to as king of the Lozi. A few of us were intereviewed on ZNBC, so yes, I am now a national TV star. Okay, perhaps not a star, but I was still on national TV.

Once a year the Lozi King migrates across the floodplane from the lowlands to his palace (mmmm, I use the term "palace" loosely here). We knelt for every imaginable official. We even knelt for the king's baggage as it was loaded onto the boat.

The king is rowed by about 100 men that use home-made paddles.

Norwegians are wild. Seriously. What's with Scandanavians? Love them. Every Norwegian I have met (and Swede for that matter) has unending energy and a serious dedication to savoring every second of life. Needless to say, I am tired. We did not sleep a lot.

YouTube Video!!!!

2008-04-09T02:15:00.007-11:00

Hi friends. After on of the largest debacles in my life, I found a way to upload a short video about my life for Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church (they were doing a fundraiser on Sunday and wanted to see their “global fellow” in action in Zam). If you want to check it out (about 8 minutes in length), please copy and paste this url (or just search "Carmen in Zambia" on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQ7bbq3fuPc

Scotty is leaving me (pictured left). Not before the Komboka Ceremony (stay tuned for very cool pics and stories), which will be held in the Western Province this weekend. On Saturday we went to Race Course together for the last time (a big dance competition and Peer Education Seminar was held for a bunch of teens). We went with my new friend Sevelen who is from Namibia, but has been working in Zimbabwe for the last year. His NGO sent him to Zambia because of the potential civil unrest that is feared due to the delayed election results.

I love Sevelen (pictured below-- the one on his knees). He uses adjectives in this crazy high-pitched voice that has people in stitches. We were walking to Race Course and stopped by “MEF falls” (which has been an ongoing joke) where we enjoyed the cascading, polluted waters that feed the resovoir where we collect our drinking water.

Kabwe

2008-03-30T21:26:00.005-11:00

There are big, white bats here. Okay, not white exactly. But a warm, tawny brown. Sort of like the Velveteen Rabbit, but much, much more vermin-like. I like Kabwe. It was recently ranked the 4th most polluted city in the world due to some mining disaster, but I like the cool, breezy evenings and the bustling downtown streets. Our NGO is hosting a workshop in association with the Tamar Campaign, a continent wide project that aims at educating churches about gender-based violence, its link to HIV/AIDS, and to empower leaders to engage Biblical texts contextually to address issues of social injustice. The 2 facilitators from South Africa are full of spitfire and energy: my favorite kind of women.

This national church gathering was by far more fun than any church function we North Americans or Europeans could come up with. We spent our final evening together dancing, singing, performing impromptu sketches, and sharing stories and proverbs from our villages. And what did I have to contribute? I danced my favorite dances with the ladies, but could not come up with any witty cultural riddles or songs to sing “from my village.” So you know what saved me? “How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?” Yes, this is all I could come up with. Embarrassing. That was my cultural contribution to the evening.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2008-03-16T22:31:00.014-11:00

This is another one of those strange American holidays that is impossible to explain to my Zambian friends. Corned beef and hash, little green leprechauns, and fun runs. We are weird.

Periodically I walk into the office and the Catholic radio station is blaring inspirational music (generally a collection of European-sounding choral arrangements), but the program ends with the same song every time: the theme to the Tom Cruise movie “Top Gun.” Freaking hilarious.

Went to Racecourse for a football tournament this weekend. 16 teams (8 under 12 and 8 under 14) battled it out sans footwear, but proudly sporting donated uniforms. These kids gathered from four shanty compounds in and around my area and are coached by a collection of fantastic volunteers. One volunteer coach, Hamweenzu, is a physical education and geography teacher and looks forward to meeting my dad when he comes out in July.

I love weekends!

2008-03-10T02:47:00.021-11:00

Friday started with some serious self-indulgence. I went out to dinner with a bunch of mazungus to the fanciest restaurant in Kitwe. Nearly broke the bank, but do you know what was amazing?!?!!? Chicken Masala without the bone. A boneless chicken breast is SCARCE in Zambia, so I savored each little bite (sorry veggie friends). We were celebrating the two Norwegian girls, Kristen and Ida, who finished their final paper and will soon be returning to Norway to graduate from University. These girls are hilarious and think that I am especially weird (they’ve never met a young female minister that drinks an occasional gin and tonic and talks about men and literature and pop culture and all the other “normal topics”).

On Saturday I took them to their first kitchen party where my wonderful TEEZ coworkers donned bright chetenge and their typical glamorous smiles as we laughed and ate and sang and danced. My favorite dance comes from the Eastern Province and it begins with dancers on their knees, heads bowed. I paid the drummers (standard), wrapped a chetenge around my waist, got down on my knees (Edna from work has been teaching me), and began the dance. One woman was so excited to see me dancing she ran over and jumped up and down shouting, “A muzungu that was raised in Chipata!!” I am definitely learning, but these women make me laugh: they are far too complimentary. This white girl has got NOTHING. You would never believe what these women can do with their hips.

This is the bride pictured with her chimbusa (her teacher who has been preparing her for marriage over the last 6 months). Notice that her face is kind of “pale”? Women here are into this whitening paste they smear all over their beautiful brown skin. I hate it.

Brides keep their heads bowed through the whole kitchen party as a sign of respect. The bride enters the room on her hands and knees and is completely covered until her future in-laws remove her veil, confirming that this is the right woman (to avoid a Leah/Rachel situation). Christian kitchen parties usually begin with a lively message about submission, which generally makes me gag. This is the last subject that needs to be reiterated in this patriarchal culture! I always tell my co-workers, “Good thing they don’t ask ME to preach!” The Norwegian girls made the mistake of revealing the fact that they do not go to church and my co-workers hassled them, in outrage, for the rest of the afternoon.

Drama, drama, drama

2008-03-10T02:21:00.011-11:00

A drama group in town found out that I have a theater background, so I was invited to teach a workshop Saturday morning. I was asked to focus on character development and introduce creative costume/prop use. About 25 young people between the ages of 15 and 20 showed up at this little nursery school where we had a fantastic 3 hours together. At the end I had them improvise some scenes and I loved the unique characters from “the village” that they created out of nowhere. I encouraged them to tell Zambian stories, the traditional stories that are a part of their lives that they often take for granted. This is such a culturally and artistically rich country. NO NEED TO MIMIC WESTERN ACTORS AND STORYTELLING! I hope to attend one of their performances in April.By the way, just went home to get a coke and a young man about age 15, baseball cap in hand, knocked on the door in search of work. This kills me. This sweet kid had the courage to knock on the door of a complete stranger in the hope he could do a little work for a meal. My Zambian friend Charity and I watched him walk away, disappointed, and together we lamented the sorry state of Zambia. I love this country, but the economy is a disaster. I recently heard that of the 7 million able-bodied adults, only 700,000 are employed. That means 90% of Zambia is unemployed. Granted, many of these people have small farms or businesses selling goods at market, but the earnings are meager. Aargh.

B-Balling it with the boys

2008-03-04T00:13:00.015-11:00

I had a GREAT weekend. Went with a group of boys to watch them play in a basketball tournament on Saturday. These guys love the game and it is such a good way for them to spend their time, rather than wandering the local compounds drinking Chibuku Shake Shake (beer made from maze-meal served in the equivalent of a carboard milk carton) and messing around with girls. They are excellent players and love “Coach” Scott.

Instead of oranges at half-time they shared maze in plastic bags and drank water from a busted pipe.

The Kaunda era (president at Independence) is referred to as “the good old days” when the government and private companies sponsored sports leagues of all kinds. Now it is rare to find courts and sturdy hoops (let alone basketballs) in the area. A bunch of men got together to create this basketball league and this weekend was their first tournament. The basketball court was located on an old concrete slab next to the Mopani Mine. There were about 50 of us, all coughing and spluttering as plumes of noxious gasses curled their way into our breathing space. I got to talk to a bunch of miners and security guards who were loitering outside the main gate. As we spoke we watched the slow dismantling of an "Acid Purifying Plant" as brown, decaying debris filled the air. What a strange world we live in. We ravage the earth with machines to extricate copper predominately used in the war effort. Peace would devastate the Copper industry. Strange, indeed.

I’m collecting material for a couple of different documentary ideas I have, so here I am with the cam. I’ll give you more details as they formulate. I already stand out like a sore thumb simply being white, so why not throw a camera into the mix?

My heroes!

2008-03-04T00:05:00.004-11:00

See these little boys? These darling little boys? I went without water for 12 days--- LAME--- and just when I was feeling extra sorry for myself these three little guys stopped by to see if I needed them to go fetch water. I handed them each two big jugs and they trotted off like little terriers. I didn’t have to lift a finger and soon I was boiling water, washing dishes, and even had enough water to mop the floor. This was pure mercy little boys! I promised to make them cookies.

Frankie is getting fat. When she first arrived she was fairly traumatized—the stoning incident freaked her out—but now she is frisky and ravenous all the time. My neighbor Jenny said yesterday, “You’ve got to stop feeding her! You’re turning her into an American! And if you aren’t careful, she’s going to pop!” Ha Ha British Jenny. Yes, many Americans are fat. Thanks for that. Whenever I’m annoyed with my English friends I snidely refer to them as “the Colonizers.”

Had my mid-year evaluation today at work. How crazy is that? I’ve been here 6 months now! Time flies people.

Game Day in Kamatipa!

2008-02-18T19:15:00.009-11:00

Got back from my staff retreat on Friday, although the word “retreat” is rather misleading. We had four packed days of 2008 strategic planning, so I was grateful for a WEEKEND upon my return. I went to Kamatipa for the second weekend in a row, this time to hang out with a few hundred orphans for a massive game day. There was dancing, drumming, poetry reading, and all sorts of field sports being played all morning. Reminded me of field day in elementary school (fun bordering on utter chaos).

My friend Scott (tall Mazungu pictured here with lively, Zambian Rachel) works with an NGO that planned the events of the day, targeting the orphans in two of the four compounds near my house. They estimate that 3000 orphans live in these four compounds (which does not even count Chimwemwe, the largest compound in Kitwe). Pretty staggering numbers.

Gotta love charcoal

2008-02-10T23:23:00.000-11:00

Scotty, Jenny, and I made breakfast on the front porch yesterday in the pouring rain. The power went out (AGAIN) and we resorted to using charcoal to make eggs, coffee and toast with marmalade. Oddly like camping.

My friend Esther, from work, always laughs and tells me, "Carmen, now you know what it is like to live in a typical village!" Women walk to and fro with buckets of water on their head (a skill I will never acquire!) and I often read by candlelight at night (which sounds far more romantic than the reality).

I got a kitty!

2008-02-10T23:11:00.001-11:00

There is a new addition to the MEF family. Meet Frankie (named for his beautiful blue eyes). I found this little ball of fuzz on the side of a road where some little boys were going to stone him to death (lots of superstition about cats here). I plucked up this little Siamese baby and promptly brought him home. My neighbor Jenny and I are going to share him.

He is quite popular with the kiddos in the neighborhood. Since I brought him home I regularly have little people at the door requesting to play with little Frankie. I had an awful week last week, so it was pretty darn nice to come home to this tiny creature who regularly insists on curling up and taking a nap on my shoulder.

Kamatipa

2008-02-10T22:56:00.000-11:00

On Saturday I went to a small shanty compound on the outskirts of town to interview some women about their lives in Kamatipa (Bemba for “mud”). I thought I was interviewing a couple of women, but when I arrived there were about 50 children and 40 adults gathered in a small school room, the adults eager to share their stories. A leprous man, through translation, told me that the open sores that had claimed most of his fingers and toes have not been treated in years. We walked through the dusty streets (again the heavens offered a reprieve from the rain) and I was shown home after home whose porous walls had finally crumbled as a result of the heavy rainfall.

It was a humbling day and, again, I felt like my heart was going to bleed right out of my chest. We walked the 7 kilometers back home (stopping for a black mamba that was crossing the road) and just as I reached Nakadoli Market a torrential down pour began. Thankfully I had brought a plastic bag that I wrapped around my backpack, so my camera remained snug and dry but I on the other hand was soaked to the bone. It was pretty hilarious. I had to strip down as soon as I entered the kitchen and literally rang out my clothes in the sink. Dripping. Soaked I tell you!

A gray day

2008-01-30T22:11:00.000-11:00

The sky is ill-tempered at the moment. The dark gray clouds are belching out claps of thunder and the rains are surely on their way. Floods have plagued Zambia and I’ve no doubt this storm will wreak havoc on the mud huts in neighboring communities. Here I sit at my kitchen table, grateful for electricity and for the tiny squares of delicious goodness (a.k.a. Starburst candy) courtesy of my cousin Tonya who sent a lovely parcel.

Wish I could take a hot bath, but alas, I think hot water may be out for a while. We have had some serious power outages (for 2-3 days at a time), which often means our water gets cut off. I keep enormous garbage cans full of water to use for washing and drinking—just in case.

I preach this Sunday in one of the biggest churches in “Chimwemwe” which is one of the largest compounds in Southern Africa. It is only second, in size, to Soweto in Johannesburg. Should be quite the event.

Feeling a bit tired

2008-01-21T02:52:00.000-11:00

Went to my first funeral today and I am feeling wiped. My good friend and co-worker Edna lost her brother early this morning and funerals in Zambia begin immediately after the death of a loved one. These funerals often last 3 or 4 days (including home visitation, preparation of the body for burial, and finally a graveside burial). We went to Edna’s home today and all the furniture had been moved outside to make room for all the women. Men grieve together outside while women gather indoors to weep. And I am not joking around when I say ‘weep.’ Every time a new person enters the house the women gathered begin to wail. Women throw themselves on one another and express their grief together. Most of my coworkers plan to return to Edna’s house and will sleep there for the next few days (until burial). Grieving the loss of a loved one is intensely communal, like most events in Zambia, and I am privileged (and overwhelmed) to be a part of this process.
I really am tired. Perhaps this is because I had an extremely busy weekend. These pics are from one of the events I hosted on Saturday. Seven young women gathered in my home for lunch and dancing. We had a fabulous time, although I could not help but feel a little guilty as they admired all the “things” I have.

They were enamored by all the pictures of friends and family that I have hanging on the wall in my kitchen. I had to explain Halloween costumes (a holiday that is so WEIRD to people here), snow-suit clad children, and images from fancy houses (aka “pretty darn average homes of my friends in the U.S”).

A group from the U.S. arrived last week for a study tour and kindly shared some American goodies, including a People magazine. I poured through every page yesterday (I am a sucker for pop culture), but admit I was rather disgusted by the time I was through. The main substance of the articles were self-indulgent movie star’s bedroom/exercise/eating habits and endless praise for effective diets. What is wrong with us?

Tropical Paradise

2008-01-08T02:06:00.001-11:00

Couldn't resist throwing on some more pictures from Zanzibar. But what is the deal with crappy formatting? Blame it on my mac (hating the blogger site) or my internet ignorance. This aside, pretty amazing place, eh?

The picture below was taken just off "Prison Island" where Peg, some Canadian friends, and I went snorkeling. The next picture was taken in Stonetown where Peg and I wandered around one late afternoon. Its narrow, winding streets remind me a bit of Venice. As the sun went down we watched some boys play soccer on the beach while fishermen brought in their boats and scrambled up rock walls to secure their rigs for the night. Delightful.

Troy Aikman and liturgy

2008-01-08T01:58:00.000-11:00

On Sunday I attended Catholic mass with my friend and co-worker Phyllis and I was rather bewildered when the liturgist for the day, after reverently bowing before the altar, turned to the congregation to reveal a baggy, black tee-shirt featuring a gigantic picture of Dallas Cowboy Troy Aikman with helmet dawned and a big toothy grin plastered across his belly. The liturgist stood beneath an enormous, awkward painting of the Last Supper where nine white disciples are gathered around faded gray loaves of bread with the fair, flowing-haired Jesus sitting austerely at the center. I say nine disciples because three of them are decapitated. Age and weather have taken their toll, so the three poor guys hover headless in the background. The windows in the church are hand-painted with scenes of Jesus engaging Africans in daily life. Tools are limited, so the scenes have been depicted using poster paint and despite their crudeness, they are oddly beautiful.

I hadn’t been to mass in years and as I knelt to pray I was properly humbled by the grandmothers that sat on either side of me. There was no complaint on their lips as their kneecaps found the hard, wooden kneeler, whereas my knees creaked in protest. Between the mamas to my right and my left and the hundreds of devoted Muslims I encountered in Zanzibar, I have been reminded this Christmas that discipline is not my strong suit. I rarely find myself in an uncomfortable posture of prayer and I even more rarely recite prayers in unison with my sisters and brothers in faith. Humbling indeed.

A smooch on New Years

2008-01-08T01:56:00.003-11:00

Little Jason Smith threw his arms around me and gave me a big kiss during our New Years festivities this year. Jason Smith is 4 and I have decided that it is pure flattery when someone insists on kissing you, no matter the age. We had a Mexican Biesta (Jason has trouble with his r’s) and rang in the New Year playing games with some friends in the neighborhood.

I've maintained my weight

2008-01-08T01:49:00.000-11:00

I am happy to report that I have not gained weight. My office-mates assessed me carefully and have decided that I “maintained” while on holiday. This is still a weird phenomenon I have not grown accustomed to, despite its regularity. People are constantly commenting on my weight (“fat” is complimentary). This is a pic of me with some of my Christmas presents. THANK YOU to everyone who kindly sent me lovely Western things. I literally cradled the bag of cheerios my sister sent to ensure they would not get squished in my luggage.

All that blue

2008-01-01T23:26:00.000-11:00

I love the Indian Ocean. On Christmas morning, Peg and I traipsed out into the tidepools alongside dozens of women and children who were looking for octopus. Small creatures get caught in the shallow water, so you see children, buckets on heads, tromping through the warm aqua marine water, flipping over coral, to look for the slimy little creatures to sell in the market.
The warm breeze catches the colorful chetenge fabric of the head coverings and skirts of the women, so the landscape is painted with what look like brightly painted flags billowing in the air. Stunning. The afternoon was spent sipping ice cold cokes from the bottle and reading books (Angie sent a wonderful collection of short stories edited by Ira Glass). This was pure self-indulgence people.

The internet is being so slow, so I'll try to post more pictures another time. Happy New Year! Blessings upon you!

Spice Island

2008-01-01T22:11:00.000-11:00

My friend Peg just got on a bus this morning to start her long journey home (to Seattle) after visiting me for the last couple of weeks! We spent 10 days on beautiful Zanzibar, which is an island just off the coast of Tanzania in the in the Indian Ocean. Gorgeous.

Nicknamed "Spice Island" this little tropical oasis boasts some of the best beaches in the world with ancient turtles (they stretch out their leathery necks for you to rub them), Callibus monkeys (that can be found no where else in the world), stellar snorkeling and scuba diving, and fresh sea food that is to die for. The island is about 95% Muslim, although the boys that led us on our "spice tour" promptly introduced themselves as "A Christian and a Muslim"-- unintentionally flaunting their easy friendship, seemingly unaware of the painful tension that seems to be rapidly increasing in our world due to fracas and careless and dangerously ideologically driven religious and political leaders. This is a blog. Am I supposed to write things like this?

Back to a lighter topic, we were told that cinnamon is an aphrodisiac for women and clove is an aphrodisiac for men. Thought this might be pertinent information for some of you. Five times a day the call to prayer wafted in on the breeze alongside the smell of sweet pineapple (tis the season), cardamom, and blossoms bursting with fragrance.

Peg brought all sorts of fun gifts from the U.S. (cheerios, Rolling Stones, the New Yorker, chocolate, movies, home-made goodies, and books)-- thanks for your generosity friends--- I felt pretty darn spoiled.