A trip to South Africa...

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....

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!

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!

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

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

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

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

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!

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.