Ann W. Nichols in Zambia

Farewells

2011-11-28T06:42:00.000-08:00

Is saying farewell any easier if it is spread over many celebrations and observances? Ask me next week and I will tell you!

My departure date is not until December 1, but two of the expatriate families were leaving Zambia for home visits in mid-November. They were not due to return until January. So my first farewell party was November 11 with all the international families on campus. We had a big potluck dinner, shared music and stories, and took pictures. The host family, the Lunds, have four talented children, who provided entertainment with a recital including song, piano, recorder, and guitar.

The Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation Director hosted a farewell dinner for me at his home. It was a lovely evening of traditional Zambian food and good company. Dr. Temu has had the hard job of seeing MEF through a strategic planning process, with good results. The World Council of Churches is funding 21 Pan African students for training next year in two programs: peacebuilding and conflict transformation and services for orphans and vulnerable children. MEF’s prospects are improving.

Sunday I was asked to come forward in church so they could pray for a safe journey. I thanked them for the music, the joyful worship, and for including me in Bible study and other events even when it meant they had to translate everything into English because I couldn’t understand Bemba. Later on Sunday a group of women from the church came to pray with me and share their good wishes for my trip. In the evening, the coordinator of the Jerusalem Choir came to thank me for the help I gave at their fundraiser.

Each group of students in this semester’s courses planned a small farewell celebration during our last class period or afterwards, including refreshments and a class photo. One group, the set of students who are now completing the social work diploma program, has had me as a teacher each semester for the four semesters I taught here. They cleverly took a copy of the class picture, had it enlarged and framed, and presented it as a farewell gift the next day.

The last day for students to be on campus before semester break was Friday, and I was asked to give the reflection in chapel that day. They had a special choir who sang a farewell song. The Director, one of the members of staff and a student representative each spoke briefly, and they presented me with gifts--a devotional book and a chitenge traditional dress.

In my chapel reflection, I shared what Zambia has meant to me. There are aspects of the culture here that I treasure and will try to include in my life as I return home. One is the strong sense of community, interdependence, and family that sustains people through struggles and encourages them in good times. Another is the awareness of the presence of God in every part of life, the good and the bad, the high and the low times, and the joyful praise offered in song and worship. Finally, here in Zambia people take time to just “be.” They greet everyone who passes, sometimes asking about family or chatting, other times just saying good morning or afternoon. They call on you at home and sit and visit.

These three aspects of Zambian culture--resilient community, recognition and celebration of God's loving presence, and an emphasis on "being"-- offer some balance to our American focus on the individual, on self-reliance, and on “doing.” I am thankful for the chance this adventure has given me to experience another way of life for a period.

Now in my last few days, I continue to have friends and neighbors stopping by to leave a remembrance or to pray for me or just to visit one last time. The kids are giving me notes of thanks for the sandwiches and cookies. More than a few tears have been shed.

Zambia will always have a special place in my heart and my life.

Black Angels

2011-11-15T02:14:00.000-08:00

The first class of Zambian students to complete the diploma programs in social work, community development, and media studies, along with a set of Pan African students, graduated with great ceremony a couple of weeks ago. Like all festive occasions here, it had a distinctly African flavor.

The graduation was outdoors in the grassy area behind the dining hall. Canopies had been set up to shelter us from the sun. MEF has a collection of graduation robes with different colored trim, so each discipline or group had its own identity. Under the robes, most were wearing their best clothes and fanciest shoes. As in a typical American graduation, the candidates lined up two by two, followed by the faculty and administration. But instead of a slow and solemn procession, the graduates danced their way to their seats, punctuated by ululations from family members. Robes floating and swirling as they danced, it was quite a parade. Somehow they looked like black-garbed angels cavorting in the bright African sun.

The Boys Brigade band from United Church of Zambia, Mindolo Congregation played the processional, recessional, and in between. They look smart in their dress uniforms, and they don't carry music--they play entirely by ear, and they play well.
The other entertainment included traditional dancers and a troupe of acrobats. When the dancers are very good, as these were, member of the audience become inspired to join them. This is to show the audience member's ability to also do these dances, or it is to put money in the chitenges of the most skilled dancers as an expression of appreciation and recognition of their excellence.

There were prayers and blessings, speeches by honored guests and students. The Pan African students announced that they wanted to make a presentation of a gift to MEF. While here, this group of students had conducted various fundraisers--a car wash, bake sale, raised vegetables to sell, and hosted an African Cultural Night with dinner and entertainment. With the proceeds, they bought three printers to place in the computer lab so that students could print assignments without having to go to a commercial site. There was great applause from the continuing students when this was announced.

After the awarding of diplomas and a final benediction, pictures were taken and a traditional meal was served: nshima (staple food, a sort of corn meal mush), fish, chicken, greens, and cabbage and carrot coleslaw. No cake, just apples for dessert, but everyone was happy to share in this meal with family and friends.

The Zambian students honored in this event had finished their program last June, but as there is only money for one big graduation a year, they had to wait until the Pan African students completed their courses to have the ceremony. The first group of students I taught are finishing their studies the beginning of December this year, but they will participate in graduation next year. I will miss their ceremony, so I have told them I will dance with them in spirit.

Constancy and Change

2011-11-08T01:13:00.000-08:00

In just over three weeks I will return to the USA. I've been reflecting on some of the projects and activities that have been part of my service here in Zambia. Some things have changed, some have been constant, many have had aspects of both constancy and change.

Yesterday I gave out more than 30 peanut butter and jam sandwiches. I know because toward the end of the afternoon I had to send one of the boys to the tuck shop to buy a third loaf of brown bread. Not a crumb was left at 18 hours (6 o'clock), when my kitchen closed. Each loaf makes 10 sandwiches, or 11 if you use the heels. At first ten or twelve boys would come to get cold water and a sandwich each day after school or mid-day on the weekends. Then more boys came, friends of the first ones. The ages range from 4 to 14. I wondered why no girls came. It seems that not only were they busy at home helping their mothers, but they were scared away by the boys. After we discussed this problem, a group of four little girls started coming. Then about two months ago, another group, seven girls and one little brother, all from the Police Camp compound, started coming. They get sandwiches on Friday through Monday. On Tuesday and Thursday it is biscuits and juice, and on Wednesday I give them homemade cookies. The schedule is because Tuesdays through Thursdays are my heavy teaching days, when I don't have time to make sandwiches.

The boys who come mainly run around the yard and climb trees and play ball before and after eating sandwiches. They imitate Michael Jackson as often as they demonstrate the traditional dances children do when they are in a wedding party. The girls want to color or to read. I keep art supplies, books, balls, Frisbees, and a few other things for them. I let them use the toilet, one at a time. Most of them don't have indoor plumbing where they live. The girls have sometimes asked if they could take a bath, and I have had to say no for a variety of reasons. But I see how they care about their appearance and want to be clean and neat.

The trouble with this ministry is that when I leave, it will end. And I feel bad about that. I wish Zambia had a school breakfast or lunch program. One of my community development students did a research project on nutrition in Ipusukilo Compound. She found that none of the families she surveyed at the government clinic ate three meals a day on a regular basis. Two meals was typical, and some families ate only once a day. One positive development recently is that a group of Canadian church women established a feeding program at Trust Community School. They have committed funds to run the program for two years. It's only porridge, but the teachers report that the students are more attentive and productive since the feeding program started.

Change and constancy characterizes my life with students, as well. The first group of students I taught have now finished the program, received their diplomas, and are seeking positions as social workers in government services or non-governmental organizations. But jobs are scarce. I wrote a blog about Kabutu Kabutu, a graduate who is starting his own program, Heart of Care Services for the Aged. He came to consult with me on developing a constitution, bylaws, and a project proposal. Now he is about to get the organization formally registered. He has received initial funding through some local community leaders and a church, and he will be presenting his proposal to a potential donor next week. Persweden, the student whose husband died suddenly last year, is now completing the program thanks to support from several people who heard her story and provided sponsorship. I plan to donate the proceeds of my "going home" sale (computer, camera, kitchen equipment, sheets and towels, etc) to our scholarship fund for social work and community development students. My packets of class handouts developed to supplement lectures will be passed on to the next lecturers for each of the classes I taught here.

Twenty-two months is longer than I planned to stay, but not enough time to do everything I wanted here in Zambia. My efforts to learn Bemba and to master the traditional dance steps reflected more good-humored effort than actual success. It would have been interesting to travel and see more of the country. My choice instead was to fully integrate into the life of a community, to join in its daily life, its celebrations, and its interactions.

My weekly schedule had a rhythm: daily chapel, teaching, Sunday worship, Monday movie night with the ex-patriate community, Tuesday night prayer sharing, Wednesday night singing group, Thursday evening Bible study, Friday morning shopping in town, and Saturday night Game Night with the students. I gave cooking lessons for students and community women who wanted to learn to bake cakes and cookies and prepare American dishes. Caroline's "drivers' wives" self-help group came to learn and is using cake baking as an income-generating project. I was invited to kitchen parties, weddings, fundraisers, holiday celebrations, family dinners, sports events, talent shows, and baby showers, and taken to visit projects in several compounds. Various people would stop by my house just to "visit." My time here in Zambia, full of activities and relationships, has been a meaningful way to start the new phase of my life that began with retirement two years ago.

I am sure that more adventures still await, but Zambia will always have a special place in my heart. And there is a namesake here. Moses, who tends my garden, named his newborn baby daughter Ann!

Anthem Envy

2011-10-28T07:12:00.000-07:00

There are many things in Zambia which need improvement. Just the other day, BBC reported that the Internet was evaluated in 190 countries of the world, and Zambia was nearly the bottom of the list. To be precise, it rated 189th. Only Lebanon has slower and less adequate connectivity. Many days we cannot download documents because the effort times out or it just never completes the process. But in some areas, Zambia shines.

In chapel, the day after Independence Day, we sang the Zambian national anthem. The melody is lilting and simple. The words clearly express the Zambian spirit and Zambian culture. I have anthem envy!

Here are the words to Zambia's anthem:

Stand and sing of Zambia, proud and free,
Land of work and joy in unity,
Victors in the struggle for the right
We've won freedom's fight
All one, strong and free.

Africa is our own mother land
Fashioned with and blessed by God's good hand.
Le us, all her people, join as one
Brothers under the sun
All one, strong and free.

One land and one nation is our cry
Dignity and peace 'neath Zambia's sky
Like our noble eagle in its flight
Zambia, praise to thee
All one, strong and free.

Praise be to God,
Praise be, praise be.
Bless our great nation
Zambia, Zambia, Zambia.
Free men we stand
Under the flag of our land
Zambia, praise to thee
All one, strong and free.

I imagine that many of us wish our national anthem were more reflective of our values and hopes. Go Zambia!

Observances

2011-10-24T02:50:00.000-07:00

Today is Zambian Independence Day, and there are many celebrations. Reminds me in some ways of the 4th of July. It is sunny and hot. Our MEF students are enjoying a picnic and "brai" (barbeque) at a park. The Sunday School children from church are also enjoying a picnic outdoors, with lots of games and dancing and singing. The nursery school on the MEF campus had an Independence Day parade on Friday, marching, chanting, cheering, all of them wearing shirts or sundresses made from chitenge fabric with the Zambian flag as the design. Most of the flag is dark green, symbolic of the vegetation and natural wealth of the country. There are three stripes in the right corner, red for the blood shed to secure independence, black for the people, and orange for the copper and mineral resources. An orange eagle symbolizing freedom sits on top of the three vertical stripes. The kids were very enthusiastic in their celebration and it reminded me of the 4th of July parade Winterhaven hosts in Tucson, or the one we experienced at Ghost Ranch the last time we had a family vacation there.

One observance here was entirely different from our 4th of July commemorations in the USA. Many churches, Mindolo included, had all-night services last night to pray for the country and its leaders and to praise God for freedom and independence.

Another recent event here was a conference hosted by the Anglican Church and seminary on campus. The featured speaker was the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr. Rowan Williams, symbolic head of the worldwide Anglican communion. He was in Zambia after visiting Malawi to commemorate 100 years of the Anglican church there. He spoke of the challenges and opportunities faced by the Anglican (Episcopal) church today. The unity of the denomination has been stressed by differences of opinion and understanding on two issues, the role of women in the church and the church's teachings and rules regarding homosexuality. He acknowledged that the church has no mechanism for global problem-solving, but they are concentrating on building relationships that can encourage unity. He has his work cut out for him in these difficult times.

Finally, we are getting ready to celebrate the graduation of one of the groups of Pan African students, the ones in the Youth Leadership Development Program, together with a group of social work, community development, and media diploma students. Such events are always a mixture of joy and sadness as we bid farewell to those who are going far away and celebrate their accomplishments. The Pan African students hosted an African Cultural Night a couple of weeks ago featuring food and music and dancing from their many countries. My friend Botho Divine Engagement is one who is graduating and returning to Botswana. I will really miss her strong spirit.

And in only 5 1/2 weeks, I, too, will be leaving MEF and returning home after a rich and rewarding Zambian experience. So I understand the mixed feelings of the students--relief to have finished their studies, sadness to be leaving friends and mentors, a sense of being unsettled during a time of transition.

Please keep us all in your thoughts and prayers.

Bathroom Ants, Bathing Babies, and More...

2011-10-16T02:27:00.000-07:00

The other day, I was thinking about some of the aspects of life in Zambia that have been unique, or notable in some way, or at least different from usual life in America. Here are a few:

Last night (Friday) I was lulled to sleep to the sounds of music and cheering coming from the church on campus. The church is not next door to me. It is located the equivalent of at least two city blocks away from my house. But the celebratory sounds were loud enough to carry in through my bedroom window. I wondered what was going on at 10 pm, and when I awakened about 2 am and still heard singing and drumming from the church, I knew it was surely one of the all-night prayer and praise sessions held every couple of months. I got up shortly after 6 am and a few minutes later heard about a dozen local youths on my porch. They were asking if I would make them a cup of Milo and a peanut butter sandwich. They were hungry after the all-nighter.

Now, why was I getting up at 6 am on a Saturday, the one morning of the week that I do not have somewhere to be before 8 am? Well, I have learned through experience that Zambians sometimes show up at my door as early as 6:30. My first visitor this morning--after the youths--was at 7 am. These callers do not necessarily expect to find you fully dressed. In fact, if they are a neighbor, they might appear in night clothes or casual lounging clothes themselves. But they have a request or a question or something to return or borrow. So they just stop by.

Traveling to town on a bus that took a new route, I noticed a sign for "Agatha's Firm Foundation School," and I was reminded of names of shops and services that have puzzled or amused me. There was a hand-cart a young man was wheeling through the market on which he had painted the name "Hummer" on the side. The "Joyful Desire Centre" offers secretarial services. You can eat at the High Class Food Cafe, or order carry-out from the Virtuous Christian Catering establishment. (They don't carry alcohol.) I wondered what people did at a "Fitment Centre" after seeing so many signs for them, It turns out that is where you go to buy "tyres." I have seen a sign for Just Imagine Investments and for Polite Spare Auto Parts. You can play soccer at the Mundane Football Club or order texts from the Annointed Christian Bookshop. The Alpha & Omega Grocers is next to The Most High Secretarial School. I can get my hair cut at Blessings Barbing or at Grace of God Hair Saloon. I would certainly be hopeful as I took my car to Auto Miracles and Odd Jobs Limited. The biggest mystery is just what they sell at a corner shop, painted orange, that I pass on the bus frequently. Over the door is the only signage, the statement "Jesus Wept."

Then there is the mystery of the bathroom ants. Black, medium size, not tiny like the kitchen ants or huge like the red biting ants, they are found in and around my sink and tub. What attracts them? I can't figure it out. When I go to brush my teeth or wash my hands, I try to start with a little trickle of water, so I won't wash them down the drain. But if I miscalculate and one does go down the drain, if I then wait a few moments, the ant will struggle out and climb up the slippery side of the sink and disappear. I admire their spunk.

Finally, a week ago I hosted Sheba, a former student in one of my classes, together with her 3-weeks old daughter Christina and her sister Chongo, while she took care of some work in her program. I learned that Zambian babies are bathed at least twice a day, often more. It turned out to be a real challenge, since the day after their arrival the MEF water pump broke down, and it took all week for it to be repaired. We had to haul water from the nearest station in buckets, and on the fifth day the MEF truck began to bring barrels full to our houses. I think the baby was cleaner than any of the rest of us, as we tried to ration the water between cooking and drinking and cleaning uses. The garden had wilted, but when water resumed after seven days, I was amazed at the resilience of most of the vegetables as they responded to the return of irrigation. It helped that we did have one good rain during that dry week. All of us appreciate the blessing of water service more than ever. And I am aware that all over Zambia, in villages and shanty towns and compounds, many people live without access to running water in their homes.

When I am back home, I will miss the music from the church. Several times a week at my house I hear the Boys Brigade Band and the various choirs practicing, usually in the late afternoons. Every morning I join my voice with those of the MEF students and staff in chapel. Often during the day I find a melody in my mind from one of these sources. It's an important part of life here, one that has enriched me.

As an Avery & Marsh song we learned at Ghost Ranch goes, "Different is beautiful, God bless diversity!"

On Challenging Customs

2011-10-09T10:01:00.002-07:00

I assigned a UN report on "Gender Equality and Social Institutions in Zambia" as required reading for my community interventions course. It generated the liveliest discussion we have had in that class.

The majority of social work students are women. The men tend to choose the diploma program in community development. There is considerable overlap in the curricula of these two programs, but social work has an image of being a woman's field more than does community development. So in my community interventions [social work] class, there are only two men and ten women.

The article on gender, in addition to discussing such issues as inheritance, domestic violence, ownership rights, and securing credit--all areas in which women suffer inequality--delves into official and traditional family law. I quote: "Husbands are traditionally the heads of families in Zambia. They have sole parental authority and make most of the important household decisions, including those regarding the use of contraception." And later, "The custom of paying a dowry incites domestic violence: having paid a bride price, the husband and other men in the family consider the woman to be their joint property."

The students agreed with the report in most respects. They said that while such practices are more universal in the rural areas, they also are strong in urban areas, even among the educated population. Bride price was identified as one of the primary motivators behind underage marriages. In villages, a daughter is a potential source of income for the parents. Girls are often kept home after grade 7 and marriages may be contracted at age 12 to 14. Pregnancy follows shortly after marriage, with detrimental health consequences in many cases.

The women in my class, almost all in their early to mid twenties, spoke of their dismay at being considered inferior, being expected to be subservient, and being thought of as property. But, clearly, they felt trapped. Marriage is seen as necessary for survival. Jobs are scarce (40%-60% unemployment) and men are favored in the employment market. Culturally, there is little respect for a single woman.

It is not all bleak. I believe that there are Zambian marriages based on a partnership model. Even when the husband considers himself the head of the household, he does not necessarily beat his wife. But too many men do. And too many men exert total control over family finances. The general cultural acceptability of extramarital relationships for the man (having a "side dish" or "spare wheel") and condemnation of the same for the woman marks an interesting double standard.

Cultural patterns and practices do not change easily or quickly. Women here are socialized to be deferent and submissive. In the rituals associated with preparation for marriage, the woman is taught how to please her husband in every way. She is taught that she can refuse no request or expectation her husband makes or shows. This education is carried out by her aunts and other female relatives.

In the class, we discussed how privilege and power are maintained by the consent and cooperation of the underlings. Traditions will not become more egalitarian by themselves. It will require a movement. It will require a vision of something better, and hope for the possibility of change. Given that many people cherish the security and predictability of the status quo, efforts to create change will encounter serious resistance. But as women achieve more equality, more respect, and more opportunity, Zambia's development will move ahead.

I offered the class a saying of Mahatma Ghandi: "You must be the change you want to see in the world." For Zambian women--indeed for all men and women--may it be so!

Election Surprises

2011-09-23T04:46:00.000-07:00

National elections just took place in Zambia.

Elections are always a time of excitement and expectant waiting and hoping. It has been that way in Zambia for the past few weeks, as the country prepared to vote on September 20. I've been impressed by the similarities and contrasts to elections in the USA.

First, terms of office and frequency of elections: Many African countries have a poor record of holding regular elections or having free and fair elections in which it is possible to unseat an incumbent. I spent time in Uganda in 1991 and 1993. Yoweri Museveni was President then, and he is still. (Has been since 1989, and over the years he has become increasingly dictatorial and repressive against his opponents or challengers.) Zambia, on the other hand, following an initial period of one-party rule after independence, has a competitive multi-party system. The president serves a five year term and can be elected twice.

Political parties: There were 11 contenders for president, from 11 different parties. However the two major parties are the Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD), which has held power for 21 years, and the Patriotic Front (PF), which just won this election. I was afraid that with the vote split so many ways, the power of incumbency would win out. However, Michael Sata of the PH is a well-known political figure who came close to winning the last election and was considered the only viable contender against President Rupiah Banda. His nickname is "King Cobra" after his vigorous and confrontational campaigning style.

Campaign Issues: Banda takes credit for Zambia's stability and positive economic growth. It should be noted that this relatively strong economy has not impacted the lives of the vast majority of citizens, who live in deep poverty and without a system of free education. Development has been possible largely through deals with China to mine Zambia's rich copper and other mineral resources. However, the country realizes little benefit in taxes, despite the dramatic recent increases in copper prices. And the working conditions and wages in the mines are notoriously poor. Sata promised to renegotiate the arrangements with the Chinese so that Zambia would share more of the profits and so that working conditions would improve. He campaigned on job creation, better education, and help for the most vulnerable. He also promises to fight corruption. Easier said than done, but this is a badly needed reform.

Campaign tactics: The usual rallies, marches, and debates took place. Campaign signs and billboards were everywhere. Banda was known to be offering sacks of maize to his supporters and fertilizer to farmers, and of course the roads began to be repaired in the month before the election. Sata had vehicles with loud speakers driving through the compounds urging people to register and to vote for him. He had a clever campaign strategy: his signs urged voters "Don't kubeke!" ("don't tell!"), meaning they should accept the mealie meal from Banda's party, but vote for Sata. International observers criticized Banda's vote-buying activities. Inappropriate use of public money for the incumbent's party activities was also documented.

Uniquely Zambian election customs: All campaigning was required to stop at 6 am the day before the election. I'm not sure why, but it was a welcome relief to have a quiet day. Then Election Day is a national holiday. Our students went to the chapel Monday evening to pray for a peaceful election (some of them come from countries where there has been considerable election violence). During election day, Tuesday, many churches were open for people to come and pray for peace, and our students kept up a prayer and fasting vigil all day. Several people shared with me the idea that the election was already decided by God--but they did intend to vote, they just knew the outcome would be "right," whatever it was.

Post-election activities: Voting ended at 6 pm Tuesday, and people went home. Results would not come out until the next day, since the count was by hand from paper ballots. However, they did expect local results on Wednesday morning, and presidential results later in the day. On Wednesday, announcements seemed to be slow coming. Results were being "verified" in a way no one seemed to understand. International observers had judged the election to have been well-run, with only a few examples of polls opening late or problems with ballot papers. But the delay in learning results made everyone anxious, especially the youth, first time voters, and members of the opposition party.

When the presidential race results had not been reported by Wednesday evening, unrest was evident. Thursday morning at chapel, we were cautioned to stay home or within Mindolo in case disturbances broke out. I intended to do just that, after a quick trip to town to get money and pick up a few fresh groceries for a dinner I was planning for friends. I called a cab so I could just go and come quickly. Well, it wasn't such a good idea. While in ShopRite, there was a panicked exodus of nearly everyone from the store when it appeared that the nearby open vegetable market might be burning. We got out just in time, since shortly thereafter the road was closed by rioting, stone-throwing youths demanding to know the results of the election. I gave the cab driver "hazardous duty pay" and had him take the household workers from our area back to their compound safely. News of demonstrations and destruction in our area, the Copperbelt, continued. People were suspicious that vote tampering was going on.

All day Thursday, reports of the results were promised, but didn't materialize. Then, just before 1 am Friday, I heard a great commotion outside. Cars were honking their horns, fireworks were exploding, people were singing and dancing in the streets outside of MEF in Mindolo Compound. The results were out, and amazingly, the opposition had won with 43% of the vote. (Remember, there were 11 candidates!) Sadly, two people had died in the disturbances in Kitwe on Thursday, but otherwise, calm was restored. And people are still celebrating today.

To have an election--especially one resulting in a change of administration--happen so well is refreshing and hopeful for the future. Zambia is being seen as a model for other African countries. My hope is that the new president will follow through with his campaign promises and will also put transparency and accountability high on his agenda. We are all eager to see what a difference the change will make. We know that words are easier than deeds, but at least there is an opening for a new beginning and a greater priority on the needs of youth and the poor.

The biggest surprise of all came when I learned that the new president was inaugurated today, on the same day the results were announced. No lame duck period here! And Banda left graciously. A model for other countries in Africa, indeed.

A Humbling Perspective

2011-09-16T02:39:00.000-07:00

For the week preceding, and on the day itself, BBC had features about 9/11: eyewitness reports from survivors and reporters, interviews with persons who lost family members in the tragedy, reflections on the reactions and consequences of this event, and reports of commemorations planned in the USA and around the world. Commentators repeatedly spoke of the significance 9/11 as an event which changed the world. Probably the coverage was more extensive than usual because it was the 10th anniversary, but I recall a number of BBC programs last year, as well.

This morning, I heard another perspective, and it made me think. Once a week, BBC broadcasts a 5-minute dialogue between “The Resident Presidents,” two fictitious African heads of state, Olishambles and Kibakima (not sure about the spelling here, but that is how it sounds.) They make irreverent and often humorous observations about current events. Mostly their topic of conversation focuses on happenings in Africa. This morning, however, their piece was on 9/11.

One president tried to engage his colleague in conversation about 9/11. The other claimed to have been preoccupied with a party and to have paid no attention. The first was amazed that anyone could be unaware of the anniversary. His fellow president then challenged him: “How many people died in 9/11?” “About 3,000” was the reply. The next question from the inattentive president asked about the hundreds, even thousands of people who have died in Africa recently, in ferries that sank, election violence, and mass rapes and executions associated with civil wars--and commented how quickly these losses disappear from the news, or don‘t even make the news in some countries. The next question was “And how many have died in Iraq and Afghanistan?” “Well, I don’t really know,” was the reply. “I have heard that over 150,000 have died, including civilians and military,” announced the president who did not seem to care much for 9/11 commemorations.

While I understand that 9/11 was about more than numbers, the coverage has raised some issues for me. Is there a question of balance here? What do we emphasize in our commemorations? Do we also use the anniversary as an opportunity for a critical assessment of our national priorities and the effects of our responses to 9/11? Or do we mainly re-live and renew our horror and grieving?

Of course, being in Zambia with limited Internet, I do not know what the media coverage was like in the USA, or much about community observances. But I checked it and was pleased to see that Tucson Habitat for Humanity is still practicing the commemoration started on 9/11 in 2002--organizing Building Freedom Day and involving hundreds of volunteers in laying the foundations and framing a number of houses for low income families. Ten were started this year, in honor of the 10th anniversary of 9/11. Such an effort celebrates the core values of America. The volunteers will include people from all walks of life, different ethnic groups, men and women, working together in mutual aid. The family that will live in the house helps with its construction. The work on the houses will continue for about eight months before they are finished.

Projects like these build community solidarity. They contribute to a climate of peace and respect. They reflect what is best about America, our “can do” approach to solving social problems and our willingness to cooperate and collaborate to help one another. I wish our Congress would see the model represented by the spirit of Tucson and begin to collaborate and cooperate on programs which will benefit the entire community, and especially the poor and vulnerable. We need to create jobs, extend educational opportunities, develop more affordable housing, and make health care available to all. This will only happen if we agree to pay our fair share of taxes and if we take a hard look at how much we are spending on military endeavors and our ever-expanding correctional system.

I am left meditating on what is the appropriate balance between concern for security and for freedom. Perhaps a better question is what will provide us with more security and freedom, at home and abroad? Is it more investment in fences, walls, and weapons? Or investment in creating opportunities for human development through education, work, and technology? It’s not as simple as that makes it sound, but I believe we need to be asking these questions and looking at a wider range of creative options in public policy.

Blessings and Burdens of Being a Teacher

2011-09-09T08:03:00.000-07:00

Every teacher hopes her students will use what she has taught. This is especially true of teachers in the professions, since the knowledge imparted is intended to be practical. So it pleases me when graduates come back to discuss how they are trying to develop projects in the community or programs at agencies.

Sometimes they come just to let me know what they are doing. More often, they come for consultation as they struggle to make what they learned work in the real world of human and organizational complexities. Usually they are looking for ideas about resources for collaboration and support.

Here in Zambia, jobs are scarce in any field. Official unemployment figures are reported to be over 40%. So some of the more enterprising social work graduates try to start a social service endeavor by themselves or in partnership with a church.

Menard came to see me a few weeks ago and took me to visit the community school he is assisting. It is located in a poor shanty town off the main road. He is helping them to find teachers, enroll students, and finish building a permanent facility. Right now they are meeting inside a building that looks about to fall apart. It certainly will not survive heavy rains, which are due to start in October. He had a budget for the materials they need to complete a new, sturdy structure. The community can donate the labor, but they need cement and bricks and other building supplies. I helped him think about some natural connections they could make with international church partners, since the school originated as a church project.

When Kabutu came with an organizational design for Heart of Care Services for the Aged in Mulenga Compound, I helped him amplify his idea. We created a three-fold brochure with the basic information: vision, mission, auspices, how they got started, what they do, how people can help by volunteering, making referrals, or supporting the program, and the basic contact information. I'm not as skilled at producing such brochures as my children are, but we thought it looked pretty good. We even found a graphic for the cover and will try to incorporate a photo on the back. Now I am consulting with him as he shapes up a formal proposal and seeks funding and a permanent location.

Kabutu, too, wanted me to see the community and meet with some of the leaders and participants in his project. Mulenga Compound is far off the main highway, down dirt roads that twist and turn, full of bumps and ruts. We got out at a clearing next to the tiny donated one-room office of Heart of Care. It was filled with elders, sitting on benches and the dirt floor. They decided it was more pleasant outside under the trees, so we held our meeting there. About a dozen or more elderly women and one old man were in attendance, along with a half-dozen community leaders. One woman was blind, another showed me the support bandages around her knees to help keep her steady, the man used a walking stick, and others showed evidence of various mild disabilities. The program was to hear a bit about the plans and activities of Heart of Care, and for me to offer some words of encouragement. They wanted me to know that many of the elderly were helping raise orphans. Some lacked food security, most had health problems, shelter was inadequate, and they needed to find ways to earn a little money to care for themselves or their families. I commended their resilience and commitment and their spirit of unity in working together for self-help. I was thinking about the many needs this group represented and the few resources they could easily access. In a place of deep poverty, the elderly and children suffer most.

The church and the wider community group Kabutu is working with in Mulenga Compound have also established Tiyezye Community School. They meet in a building with brick walls and a cement floor, and openings where doors and windows will someday be installed. It needs a roof before rainy season. It also needs desks and benches. Children in one classroom are squatting or sitting on bricks, one per child, arranged in rows. The teachers are volunteers; most of them are still in training and combine their teaching with attending classes at the local education college. I think community schools could be considered a movement, since they spring up in compounds and shanty towns all around the urban areas, providing the free primary school education that the government should be guaranteeing to all children. Without them, thousands of children, mostly orphans and desperately poor, would be growing up illiterate.

One of the students still in the program, Enala, wants to establish an orphanage after she graduates. I have asked Kathe Padilla to share her experience creating Chishawasha Children's Home with the student. I won't be here to see her progress, but I am trying to help her as much as possible now so that she can work effectively in the future.

My title for this blog is the blessings and burdens of being a teacher. One of the joys of teaching is to see students creating programs based on what they have learned. The student or graduate is doing the work, but you helped him or her develop the knowledge and skill needed to establish the project or organization. That's the blessing part. The burden is struggling to help them find resources in these difficult economic times. It is hard to visit the compounds and see the deprivation and desperation these programs are trying to alleviate. But I feel honored that my students want me to see what they are doing with their education. I am proud of how they are trying to make a difference. It may be small, as they are starting from scratch, and it may be fragile, nourished by hope and prayer. But they are patient, persistent, and passionate, and those qualities will carry them far.

Visiting Villages

2011-08-31T02:54:00.001-07:00

Kitwe is the second largest city in Zambia. It is about two-thirds of the size and population of Tucson. MEF is a few miles out of town. So are many of the compounds and shanty towns where I have visited community schools and helped with development projects.

Until recently, I had not experienced village life here. Now I have been "into the bush" twice in a month. The first time was when Jenny, Adrian and I took Violet and some of her possessions to the village where she will teach fifth grade.

Jenny has a sturdy Toyota pickup truck, a necessity for traveling back roads. Our first challenge was finding the village. Road signs of any sort--speed limits, warnings, how many kilometers to the next town--are almost nonexistent anywhere in Zambia. No streets or roads have names outside of the urban areas, or if they have names, they lack signage. If you ask directions, people talk about taking "the third road after the bamboo stand, where there is a big rock", for example. If you come to a fork in the road and no one is nearby to help, you probably end up choosing the more traveled, well worn road--and hoping for the best.

Violet had been to the school to sign paperwork, but she had ridden a bus to where the road to the village left the main highway, then she found a ride on a truck on top of piles of burlap bags. So she didn't really know the directions well. But we managed, after a few false starts, to find a fairly direct route. The paths into the bush are uneven, rutted dirt roads. We were glad it was not the rainy season yet.

The village includes a compound, or set of houses, clustered around the school, then lots of little dwellings spread out among the trees and brush. There are some permanent cement houses for teachers, each with two or three rooms, painted blue and white like the school. The teacher's house where Violet will live is still occupied by the now-retired headmaster, who refuses to leave until the government gives him his pension. So the pupils and teachers built a little one-room house out of mud bricks for Violet to live in until the other house is available. Most of the village houses are made of mud. Some have thatched roofs, others have corrugated metal roofs. The latrines are outside, as is the cooking area. The teacher's houses have electricity and stoves and refrigerators, but this is not the case for most villagers.

There is a well and a hand-pump near the school. We watched many children filling jerry cans with water while we were touring the school and meeting one of the teachers. As we looked into the classrooms, we saw rough wooden desks and benches, blackboards, cement floors. The classroom of one teacher had the letters of the alphabet with corresponding pictures painted like a frieze on the walls--"D,d dog" for example. Her room also had hand-made charts with multiplication tables and other information. It is up to each teacher to develop such materials.

Violet will return next week as school opens September 5. She will need to carry food staples and other supplies with her, since the nearest markets are far away. The teacher who showed us around has taught at the school for four years. She will be a good support for Violet as she begins her career.

The other village visit was to carry some food out to a cousin of Caroline, my friend who tried to feed me caterpillars. The cousin was recently widowed and is caring for about 10 children, some her own and others orphans. This village seemed even poorer than where Violet will live. There is no electricity. There is little water to irrigate gardens. Many people crowd into tiny houses at night to sleep. During the day the children play outside under the mango trees. They must walk several kilometers to the nearest primary school. Where the latrines in Violet's village had mud brick walls, here they were holes in the ground surrounded by four poles and three burlap walls. Again, cooking is done outdoors over charcoal. Probably most people eat only once, or at most twice, a day--nshima (corn meal mush) with a sauce of beans or perhaps a bit of chicken, and greens.

Life is hard here, but people still dance and sing and are thankful for what they have. The country is at peace, and people try to help each other. I am continually amazed by the resilience of the human spirit!

Another Success Story

2011-08-19T08:23:00.000-07:00

Violet, who has been doing my laundry and cleaning my house for the past 18 months, has finally been posted at a school! She will teach fifth grade at Mukutuma Basic School in the Lufanyama District of the Copperbelt region.

Violet had completed her teacher training program and was awaiting the results of her performance on the national teachers' examination when I first arrived. A few weeks later, she received news that she had failed--as had 84 of the 89 students in her class. They were invited to register for some remedial classes (with a substantial tuition charge), continue studying, pay another examination fee, and try again.

Violet had been confident that she had passed, since all along she received excellent marks in nearly every subject. She went to the school officials asking to see her results so she could learn what she needed to study. They refused. Adrian, the Chaplain, and I discussed this situation and decided to investigate it. It just seemed unreasonable that the vast majority of students should fail, if the school had been doing its job preparing primary school teachers.

When we spoke with the director of the teacher training school, he told us there had been rampant cheating among the students, and that was why they all failed. This was hard to believe, and certainly out of character for Violet. Not only did the director blame the students, he couldn't explain how this cheating had gotten past the supervision of the exam proctors. In addition, there was no acknowledgement that perhaps the school had prepared them poorly for the examination. Or that any kind of mistake had been made.

It just felt fishy. And as I thought about it, the main person to benefit from this massive failure was the owner of this proprietary private education college, as he now would get more tuition from the students and a second exam fee.

Adrian went to someone who had contacts with the Ministry of Education. He got an appointment for Violet to see this official to explore the problem. When she met with him, she found out that her name was not on the national list of students who had taken the exam. She showed him her documentation, and he said he would call in the school director to find out what was going on.

We still do not know exactly what happened between the Ministry of Education and the school director, but a few weeks later, Violet was told that she had passed the exam and was given an official results document. Then the wait began for posting at a government (public) school.

Before she received confirmation of her posting, Violet signed up for a course run by Kitwe Teachers College (KTC) to upgrade her teaching skills. It meets during school breaks, and then continues with independent study while participants return to their teaching duties or await their posting. KTC is affiliated with the University of Zambia, so we trust there will be no issues around corruption or malfeasance in this education program. Violet is both excited and anxious about being a student again. Mostly she is eager to begin teaching.

Lufanyama is quite a way off the main road, at the edge of the Copperbelt Province. While remote, it has electricity. The community has built a small house for each teacher. Violet commented, after going to visit the place, that if I think I have seen poverty in the compounds surrounding Kitwe, wait until I see the village life. Most of the children do not own a pair of shoes. They come to school barefoot and in ragged clothes. Many will not have a pencil to their name, let alone notebooks, pens or rulers. but they want to learn, and she wants to teach. Transport for Violet to get to a town to shop will most likely be by riding on the back of a truck loaded with lumber or sacks of corn or some other product. Busses only run to the main highway. After that, it is an hour or two on whatever vehicle passes by to reach the village, or from the village back to the highway. She will receive hardship pay because of the conditions.

So, another success story. Violet is employed in the field she trained for and has a calling to do. My new helper for laundry and cleaning is Memory. She just completed teacher training and took the national exam and is awaiting results.

Isn’t this where I came in?

Current Events Here and There

2011-08-06T08:00:00.001-07:00

Zambia will hold a presidential election September 20. The incumbent President, Rupiah Banda, is running for re-election. He succeeded to the presidency three years ago in a special election after the death of the third Zambian President, Levy Mwanawasa. However, his candidacy for the office is now being challenged. The issue is his parentage. His opponent claims Banda's father was born in Malawi.

Why should it make a difference where his parents were born? It does, and that's an interesting story.

After independence in 1964, Zambia had a one-party system. The first President, Kenneth Kaunda, served for 27 years before he lost his office in the first contested election. Candidates from the Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD) have won every election since then, although in the last election the Patriotic Front (PF) candidate came quite close to winning.

Once in power, the second President, Chaluba, was interested in securing his position. He therefore wrote an odd provision into the constitution he was drafting, and which was later adopted. It required that the parents of any candidate for the office of the President must have been born in Zambia. It was widely understood that the reason for this criterion was to prevent Kauanda, the former President, from running again. Kaunda's parents were born in nearby Malawi and Zimbabwe.

Now that constitutional provision is being used to question whether Banda, the incumbent, can be a legitimate candidate for election. One of his parents was allegedly born in Malawi. Banda has denied this, saying that his father only worked in Malawi as a casual laborer, but was born in territory now part of Zambia. His opponent has brought forth a challenge, and the court must decide in the next few days, before the ballot papers are due to be printed. Since this issue was not raised the first time he ran, just after Mwanawasa's death, I doubt that the court will decide for the challenger...but who knows?

Andy used to say that legislation based on one case was usually a bad idea. It may make the party in power feel good, but it often has unanticipated consequences later on. Banda tried to get the constitution changed with respect to this provision, but Parliament did not approve his request.

The other current events I have been following relate to the budget deficit battles back home in America. BBC has quite good coverage, and it is interesting to listen to commentators from another country as they try to understand and critique our system. They are knowledgeable and good critics, but sometimes seem puzzled by the degree of acrimony and pig-headed uncooperativeness they witness in Congress and between the GOP leadership and the President.

From my place of distance, I think there is a lot of "fear-mongering" going on in America in the popular media. Yes, it is too bad that Standard & Poor's has downgraded our credit rating from AAA to AA+, but since when is Standard &
Poor’s such a good judge of creditworthiness? They gave all those sub-prime financial instruments [that are now recognized as junk bonds] AAA ratings! And I agree with the BBC commentator who said he found their declaration that we need to reduce Medicare outlays offensive. It is not their role to recommend policy directions, and if it were, how about recommending reducing spending on the wars, which are a major drain on our economy and the source of 35% of our debt?

What we need is more revenue (tax the wealthy again) and more investment in recovery. Unemployment benefits need to be extended, given the reality of the shortage of jobs. That money goes right back into the economy in purchases of goods and services. The extremely wealthy tend to save, or to spend on things like a second house, which does not stimulate the economy as much as buying food and gas and daily need items. The ever-growing gap between the "haves" and the "have-nots"--or, really, between the upper 10-20% and the rest of the people, is not only wrong, but I believe that it is dangerous.

We don't see such dramatic differences here in Zambia. Yes, there may be some wealthy Zambians, but I have never encountered one. There is a small middle class and mostly poor people helping each other and their families as much as they can. Sometimes they can't, and we have child-headed families and street kids and abandoned elders, but not by choice.

Living in a place where there is more equality feels good, even if the standard of living is low. We all feel as if we are in it together.

A Debatable Question

2011-08-02T08:40:00.000-07:00

What do you do when the government fails to provide certain basic services that are generally agreed to be a public responsibility? This is a question we may be facing in the United States one day in the not-too-distant future. It is a question many Zambians confront every day.

Under this heading we could certainly discuss clean and safe drinking water, roads, a sanitation system, health care, and a social security system. Not to mention public education. In each of these areas, Zambia fails to provide even minimally adequate services in some or all parts of the country.

What happens when these services are missing? People suffer many preventable illnesses and do not live as long. Many children die before they reach school age. Road fatalities and injuries are common. In old age, people often descend into deep poverty. Citizens lack power when they cannot read or speak well. The country fails to develop.

One answer to what to do when the government does not fulfill its responsibilities is that the people come together and do their best to do it themselves. I've been thinking again about community schools here, especially because one of my students invited me to visit the school he has been helping, Jenna Community School.

I know he hoped I would have some ideas about how they could raise the funds needed to build a permanent structure. The foundation has been laid for a 6-classroom facility, including a small library and office. Currently the school is meeting in a flimsy church building that doesn't look as if it will survive the rainy season. Just as with Trust Community School, a third to half of the pupils are orphans, some living in child-headed families. Others live in very poor families where the parents can't pay the school fees attached to government schools, or buy the uniforms and school shoes and other things deemed necessary in the public system. Without the community school, these children would be home all day or on the streets.

The teachers are paid a small salary, the equivalent of US $35/month. You might wonder how anyone could work for so little. In some cases, they have a spouse who works a regular job and provides support. Sometimes they also farm or have a small business or income-generating project in their off hours. Sometimes they just cope somehow and see the position as volunteer work until they are posted by the government in a regular school. This, of course, means that there is frequent turnover of teachers, even when they love the community school and would like to stay on permanently. I admire the community spirit and the dedication of all those who work with community schools in Zambia.

The government has the capacity to tax, control of natural resources, and the power to create a stable and secure environment for the development of its citizens. We need to encourage people to be self-reliant and neighborly, to work productively and to care for their families. That is a given. But should we also expect that individuals provide alone--or at the community level--for all basic needs? Isn't there a proper role for government? Consider some of the many features of a good quality life that have traditionally depended on government support: safe medications, reliable water and power, universal opportunities for basic education and training, access for people with disabilities, public transportation, safe food, and social insurances. In all of these areas, Zambia has some services, but many deficiencies. And in America, there seems to be an acrimonious debate underway in which one side sees government as unnecessary, even evil.

I guess I feel more sympathetic to Zambia's situation and predicament because they have so many challenges and are so new at being an independent country. It is harder for me to understand why in America we are having this debate, why so many are unwilling to pay more taxes, why some elected officials are so resistant to continuing to provide basic services for all and compassionate care for our vulnerable populations.

Here's my final reflection to ponder these days: In Zambia and in America, how can we create a respectful process for conversation between diverse groups, to hear and understand what each fears and what each hopes for, and so we can explore the consequences of different policy choices? And in both places, how can we cultivate and strengthen our sense of community and mutual responsibility?

Difficult Days

2011-07-24T14:20:00.000-07:00

Four days a week I make peanut butter and jam sandwiches for kids. The other three days they get "biscuits" or cookies and juice drink when they come to visit. Somewhere around 20 boys and 8 girls come by each day, including a few little ones who only ask for half a sandwich. Each week, we use 4 kilos of peanut butter, 10 loaves of bread, and four large cans of jam, plus the juice drink and biscuits/cookie ingredients. It adds up.

Moses, my gardener, was in the house the other day when a big group of boys came asking for sandwiches. Perhaps he had overheard me exclaiming to Violet about how high my grocery bill was last week, or perhaps he was mad at the kids because someone had taken some of the tomatoes I was allowing to ripen on the vine. Whatever the reason, he started yelling at the kids. They shouted back, and before I could intervene, Moses had gone out on the porch an slapped one of the boys for being disrespectful.

I went out to put an end to the situation, but it was escalating out of control. I couldn't tell what they were shouting at one another because it was in Bemba, but the voices were loud and angry. One of the boys, visibly upset, ran to the field next door, picked up rocks and clods of dirt, and started throwing them at Moses, who continued to yell and shake his fist in a threatening manner. I stood between the warring parties and tried to make them stop, but it was several minutes before I was able to calm everyone down. The boy who was upset said that Moses had been insulting his father.

One reason it was so hard to resolve this situation was that we were dealing with cultural issues. In Zambia, it is acceptable for parents to beat their children. It is expected that children will respect and obey their elders. Even though I had told Moses that physical punishment is not permissible in my family and beatings are not allowed in America, he felt he was behaving appropriately. (Spare the rod and spoil the child.) The children know that I do not approve of yelling at them or striking them, so they felt free to go against the norm and challenge Moses. Once the conflict started, it gathered steam and only grew worse and worse.

I spoke with all the parties separately. Moses understood that I meant what I said about hitting children. I may not be able to prevent him from shouting, but there will be no more physical contact. The boys agreed that they needed to apologize to Moses and to show him respect in the future. I offered to teach them some non-violent problem-solving approaches during their school break.

Apparently the boys and Moses met and talked a couple of days after the incident, and things are calm again. And I do plan to follow up with some vacation activities with the kids. Constructive, non-violent problem-solving is a skill we all need to cultivate.

Just a few days ago, I heard about the tragic bombing and shooting spree in Norway in which nearly 100 people died. Most of them were youths who were at a camp on an island. One man, a native Norwegian who called himself a Christian, has admitted responsibility. As always, these incidents raise many questions. Before the perpetrator was identified, the bombing in Oslo was labeled as a "typical al qaeda attack." Once the shooter was found to be a native Norwegian, suddenly it was simply a "crazed individual." The evidence show that this was a carefully planned attack, not the sudden rage of a depressed or unbalanced individual.

Just as we try to keep track of the potentially dangerous al qaeda terrorists, I believe we need to recognize and watch the potentially dangerous far-right extremists (or any extremist, for that matter). And although I have heard no mention of it in any news reports, I suggest that we should be asking questions about access to automatic weapons and ammunition.

The one positive note in this situation was the report that among the many people who gathered at the cathedral in Oslo after the tragedy were many Muslim citizens. When asked why they were going into a Christian church, they said they wanted to show their solidarity and share in the grieving.

May that spirit of unity prevail in these difficult days.

Wise Words

2011-07-19T02:57:00.000-07:00

Riding on a bus one day, I saw a motto on another bus that I didn't understand. "Teeth are just bones" it said. Puzzled, I asked one of my students what the meaning was. "It's a Bemba saying, and it means that you shouldn't trust a smile to mean friendship, teeth are just bones."

Since then, I have been collecting African sayings. Most are easier to interpret than the Bemba one. Some I have heard on BBC Africa, which broadcasts "wise words" every morning.

Sometimes the same idea appears in two expressions:
The ax forgets, the tree that has been axed will never forget.
He who gives the blow forgets, he who bears the scar remembers.
Or another pair:
A cutting word is worse than a bowstring.
A cut may heal, but a cut of the tongue does not.

Here are more sayings I have collected:

A chattering bird builds no nest.
If you are in hiding, don't light a fire.
He who cannot dance will say the drum is bad.
Don't hunt what you can't kill.
Money can buy a bed but can't buy you sleep.
Cross the river in a crowd, and the crocodile won't eat you.
No matter how tall your father is, you must do your own growing.
The hen does not attend the meeting when the fox is the chairman.
Ashes fly back in the face of he who throws them.
There is nothing more expensive than a lost opportunity.
If the camel once gets his nose in the tent, his body will soon follow.
Water all seeds--you don't know which will grow.
He who inherits the leopard also inherits the spots.
Like ants, eat little and carry the rest back to your home.
There is no shortcut to the top of a palm tree.
Never start a quarrel with fire when you are dressed in dry leaves.
Not everyone who chased the zebra caught it, but he who caught it chased it.
It is a fool who rejoices when his neighbor is in trouble.
Pray for a stronger back rather than a lighter load.
A word to the wise is wasted--spare them for the dumb.
He who receives a gift does not measure.
If you run after two hares, you will catch neither.

And my four favorites:
When elephants fight, the grass suffers.
He who forgives ends the argument.
The path is made by walking.
In the school of life, the lesson comes after the test.

I was reflecting the other day that not all "words of wisdom" that we might have been taught are truly wise. As a child, I heard that "Sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never harm you." It wasn't true. As adults, a friend and I, discussing the effects of taunting, gossip, and name-calling, re-wrote the saying: "Sticks and stones may break your bones but words may break your heart." My grandmother taught me to "consider the source" when dealing with painful words, but how much better if we can sometimes prevent them from being spoken at all.

A Success Story

2011-07-11T01:29:00.000-07:00

Samuel Mwanamundu, a tall, slender young man with a confident walk and an intense sense of direction, came by to borrow my camera. "We are having a sports day and I want to get pictures of the kids in action. Then I will put them in an email to send to our supporters." The event was sponsored by the Zambian Institute for Youth Development, an organization Samuel has helped establish. Its purpose is to involve street kids and other vulnerable children in activities that will develop life skills and equip them for independence and self-sufficiency.

Samuel, age 21, knows firsthand what these children need. He lived on the streets for awhile. He knows the risks, the attractions, the desperation, and the exploitation that are part of that life. Kids end up on the streets for several reasons. Some are orphans. Some have fled abuse or neglect. Some are on the streets during the day to earn money for their families and go home at night with food or supplies.

Samuel was born in 1990 in the northwestern part of Zambia. His father died before he was born, and his mother succumbed to TB when he was 6. He and his younger brother were taken in by their grandmother. There was not enough money to pay school fees, so he went out on the streets to sell matches and paraffin. His great-uncle then took him in so he could go to school. Unfortunately, the uncle drank heavily and mistreated him. After 8th grade, when he started to resist the beatings, the uncle threw him out ("chased him away" as they say here). On the street, he slept in the bus depot and tried to find odd jobs so he could feed himself. Some days he was hungry, and many days he was afraid. Someone told him about Victim Support, so he went there. They took him to Salem Children's Village, an orphanage. There he attended grades 9 and 10, but the orphanage ran out of funds and closed. A church offered him a place to sleep for awhile, and he encountered a missionary who helped find a sponsor to pay his school fees so he could finish grade 12. He passed all the national exams.

When I met him last year, he was living in a shed about the size of a typical bedroom. The shed was behind a house and contained a bed, a table, a chair, and all Samuel's belongings, mostly clothes and books and eating utensils. He had a goal, to go to Bible College. He said his faith is what has helped him survive and grow and he believes he can help others through becoming a pastor as well as through work with the Zambian Initiative for Youth Development. He felt the strong call to ministry when he was living in the orphanage.

Samuel's story could be told over and over here in Zambia. He was fortunate in not staying on the streets too long, and on finding sponsors and organizations to help him. There are many young people, equally talented, who are not so lucky. Their potential goes undeveloped. Their leadership capacity may be diverted into criminal activity if no other means of survival seems to exist. Every time I go into Kitwe to shop, I see the street kids begging. Some are high from sniffing petrol. Scuffles often break out as they compete for jobs guarding cars, unloading grocery carts, or washing windshields. Some have adapted so well to life on the streets that they resist efforts to put them into training programs. They like the freedom of the streets. But most never have a chance for any other life, since there are few services and many vulnerable children.

I helped Samuel with his application to Bible College. He was admitted and provided with a scholarship. He has done well in coursework and now is also going out to preach and teach at different churches on the weekends. He continues to work with the Zambian Initiative for Youth Development, as well. Go Samuel!

"No Woman Should Die..."

2011-07-05T00:05:00.000-07:00

Caroline came by to tell me the sad and shocking news. One of the driver's wives (the group she is organizing for mutual aid) died in childbirth this week. The baby died, too. She wondered if I would like to contribute to the collection of funds for the family. The husband is left with four children to care for, the youngest only two years old. Because three of the four children are girls, and it is not considered suitable in this culture for a single father to raise girls alone, Caroline thought the children might have to go live with the grandmother.

This was not the first death in childbirth I had heard about, but the first where I had met the woman. The maternal mortality rate in sub-Saharan Africa is more than twice as high as in other developing countries in different regions. The United Nations adopted a set of eight Millennium Development Goals to guide its work for the period 1990-2015. Countries were asked to sign on and to give priority to the goals in their budgets and their development plans. One of the eight goals is to reduce maternal mortality by three-quarters by 2015. Zambia signed on and has succeeded in making some progress, although not enough. The rate was 750 deaths per 100,000 live births in 2000, and today it is 591/100,000. Eight Zambian women die each day from pregnancy related causes. Infant mortality is significantly higher, with 48 newborns dying each day. Zambian women carry a lifetime risk of maternal death of 1:38.

Maternal mortality rates also include pregnant women whose death is related to abortion. Abortion is culturally unacceptable in Zambia. It is viewed by most people as sinful or even as murder. While medical abortion is legally available under certain limited conditions, it is a rare occurrence in clinics or hospitals. So some women die from botched or "backstreet" abortions. Many don’t die but suffer serious illness or disability. Newspaper articles have reported on women swallowing battery acid, taking herbs which turn out to be toxic, and being internally injured by other means to try to cause a miscarriage.

"No woman should die while giving life." This is the motto of a Zambian campaign to reduce the number of deaths that occur to women during pregnancy, delivery, and the month immediately following childbirth. The needs are many, especially for trained birth attendants and accessible clinics and hospitals. Only 47% of births happen with a skilled attendant present. Only 60% of pregnant women receive four prenatal visits with a health care provider. Few receive postpartum checkups. Early marriages are common in villages, and very young girls who become pregnant often experience prolonged and obstructed labor. One UNICEF report called the high rates of maternal mortality "the scandal of our times."

The maternal mortality rate is much higher in rural areas than in cities. There, medical facilities are often too far away to reach by walking, and transport is expensive or unavailable. One innovative project in a rural district in Zambia involves providing villages with sturdy bicycles to which a trailer is attached designed to carry the pregnant woman to the clinic when she is in labor. Another program is extending and improving the training and equipping of midwives.

Just for comparison, I looked up the figures for maternal mortality in the United States and was troubled by what I read. Thirty-nine countries have rates lower than ours, which is reported to be 17 per 100,000 live births in 2008. Our rate has been increasing; it was 12/100,000 in 1990. And it is four times as high for African-American women than for white women. So I would suggest that we have some work to do at home on this issue.

"No woman should die while giving life." Good goal to keep in mind as we look at our health care system in its brokenness and limitations. Of course, not all maternal deaths are preventable, but most are. And so we should.

Public Mourning

2011-06-25T12:39:00.000-07:00

This week I have been learning something of Zambia's history. The second President of the Republic of Zambia, Frederick Chiluba, died and we are in a period of national mourning. BBC and the newspapers have been full of discussions of his life and legacy, a very mixed story.

Chiluba was the first president to win a multi-party election in Zambia. Formerly called Northern Rhodesia under British colonial rule, Zambia became independent in 1964. It was ruled for the next 27 years by one leader, Kenneth Kaunda, under a single-party system.

Kaunda established a strongly centralized government and closely guarded his power. He imprisoned Chiluba without charges when Chiluba, a labor leader, appeared to be gaining popularity as a political challenger. He campaigned against the corruption and autocracy rampant in the Kaunda administration.

Chiluba united a number of groups into the Movement for Multi-Party Democracy (MMD). They forced Kaunda to hold an election in 1991, and Chiluba won with over 70% of the vote.

People had high hopes when he came to office. His election was hailed as a shining example of democracy in action in a continent where the norm was "imperial presidencies" of long duration. He was called a "Black Moses" and a "Liberator". His policies and initiatives at first brought an expansion of civil liberties. He drafted a constitution which included freedom of the press and freedom to form political parties. He worked to modernize and liberalize the economy.

This impressive set of reforms did not last, however. As one commentator put it, after a few years, Chiluba was no longer transforming the system, but instead, Chiluba was being transformed. He began to spend lavishly on his personal wardrobe and lifestyle, from public funds. Economic mismanagement and corruption began to re-emerge in the government. The accountability mechanisms outlined in the constitution he promulgated were not enforced. He began to act to suppress other politicians, often jailing opponents on trumped up charges. He even tried to get an amendment to the constitution as he was reaching his limit of two five-year terms, but a public outcry stopped him.

Comments I have heard here vary. Some honor the accomplishments of bringing in multi-party democracy and press freedom, with no mention of his appropriation of at least $50 million of public money for his personal use. There was a long trial at which the weak judicial system here acquitted him just this year, because the judge said that his well-documented excessive personal spending couldn't be proven to have been from government money. (Chiluba claimed that it was "personal gifts from admirers" whose identity he would not reveal.) Others condemn him not only for corruption, but also for failing to live up to his promises of strengthening democracy.

All over Africa, there are examples of leaders who stay in power for many years, either because the system allows it or because they manipulate the system. Some months ago there was a close election in Ivory Coast which the incumbent president lost. He then refused to leave office. He surrounded the presidential offices with military loyal to him, and the newly-elected president set up his administration in a hotel guarded by UN peacekeepers. It took months to get the old president out, even after world leaders and the United Nations all declared the election free and fair and the result clear.

I have been reading some analyses of the governance issues in Africa, and there seems to be a consensus that many nations do not have a balance of power between executive, judicial and legislative branches of government, with too much power in the presidency. Decision-making and implementation is controlled at the national level and not shared with districts/states/regions. Many countries don't fully recognize freedom of the press, and they suppress dissenting viewpoints. Recently in Zimbabwe and Uganda, members of opposition parties have been thrown in jail for criticizing the government or leading peaceful demonstrations. Civil society institutions are weak, and people feel powerless because there is so little transparency and accountability in the government structures.

All of this is to say that while I am quite critical of America right now--both our foreign policy and the way in which our domestic policy decisions have increased inequality and eroded community--nonetheless, I definitely see some of the strengths of our system. Of course, we are better in concept than in practice, like every human institution. But I do appreciate our strong constitution and bill of rights and our balance of powers. And the opportunities to practice advocacy and to work for change.

I hope we can see more of that in Zambia.

Drivers' Wives, Unite!

2011-06-23T01:29:00.000-07:00

Caroline, a Zambian friend, invited me to a meeting last Saturday. (She's the one who has taken in 12 orphans and cares for them along with her own family.) She asked if I would bake a chocolate sheet cake to take along, and said she would come to accompany me since otherwise I might never find the place.

She was right. The meeting was in the small space between two houses in a compound called Chimwemwe, which means "Happiness" in Bemba. I never could have found it in a taxi, so Jenny drove us there. She had intended to come to the meeting, too, but had a conflict. So she just helped with transport.

We had chairs and mats to sit on, a tree to shade us, and music from a stereo set. About twenty women were there and about double that number of children and youths. As soon as Caroline and I arrived, she led the women in a cheer: "Drivers' Wives, UNITE!"

This was a meeting of the Association of Drivers' Wives, a self-help, mutual aid organization Caroline has initiated. Their first purpose is to set up a fund to assist the women and children who are widowed and orphaned when a driver dies in a road accident. They also plan to help families pay for health care, and ultimately to create a cooperative loan fund the members could tap into when they want to start an income-generating project. There is no universal Social Security system here in Zambia, or even worker's compensation or unemployment insurance. People are on their own, or cared for by family or friends when in need. So mutual aid associations are a means to share some of the risks of life and supplement the resources of the family.

The Association of Drivers' Wives has an ambitious long-term agenda with their goal of creating a fund big enough to meet crisis needs and eventually also to support a revolving fund for seed money for members' small businesses. For today, our purpose was to get a progress report on the work of becoming a registered, chartered organization, and to celebrate with prayer, singing, dancing, and the traditional "brai" luncheon: roasted chicken, rice, relish, potatoes, coleslaw, and, of course, the cake for dessert. We managed to make one cake feed everyone--bigger pieces for the adults, bite-size portions for the children. Reminded me of the feeding of the five thousand...

There was competitive dancing between the teenage girls, daughters of the members, to see who could do the traditional dances best. The mothers couldn't help but join in, and finally even I had to attempt dancing, too. I think you have to start as a young child to master the hip and waist movement that is the heart of the dancing here. Everyone applauded my effort, but I think they were being kind to the Muzungu.

And, as I have learned to expect, I was asked to offer words of encouragement to the women in their efforts to organize themselves and raise money for their self-help activities. This was easy to do, since their enthusiasm and hard work were evident in this event. I was impressed with their strength and their hope.

We concluded with the chant, repeated like a cheer, "Drivers' Wives, UNITE!"

Potions and Prayers

2011-06-14T00:59:00.000-07:00

Are you a woman afflicted with "bareness"? Or maybe you have a family member who is "bewited"? Do you have things moving in your body? Are you after more "man power" ? Do you need help selling property or attracting business or bringing back a lost lover in 24 hours, no less!? (It seems to take 28 hours to bring back stolen property, however.) Do you need to have bad spells removed from your business or home? I'm not sure if this is the same as "body, house, and property cleansing," but that service is also offered. Illnesses such as cancer, blood pressure, TB, HIV/AIDS, skin problems, body pains, and madness are also on the list.

All of these conditions, and many more, are treated by people who call themselves "herbalist healers" or practitioners of "African, Indian, Arabic and Chinese Medicine." Some of them offer guarantees. The initial consultation fee is 20,000 Kwachas (about $5), but I don't know what the treatments cost. These traditional healers advertise their services in flyers passed out on the streets of Kitwe. The examples I have cited above are direct quotes from these ads.

Dr. Ojaku "has got herbs from Nigeria and in the tropical forests of Africa" and as well he will be "telling you your problems using Spiritual Powers and the Rock." Dr. Organ Lwazi is associated with the "Herbal Joint Research Under World Medical Clinic Research Centre", as is Dr. Isa.

The list of issues for which treatment is offered, as contained in the advertising, gives an indication of what people are stressed about here in Zambia. They seem to fall into three categories: body/health problems, love/relationship problems, and business/economic problems. I suspect that many of the issues in the first two categories are similar to what people might consult doctors and mental health professionals about in the U.S., but I doubt that many of us take our business or financial concerns to healers.

From the lists on the ads, health issues specific to women center on fertility, and men's issues on sexual performance. Particular relationship problems mentioned include dealing with jealousy between spouses or neighbors, getting and keeping lovers/mates, overcoming misunderstandings, preventing your mate from cheating, and getting your boyfriend/girlfriend to marry you. (Zambians seem to favor engagement periods that last sometimes for several years.) Dealing with hatred and 'spells" (witchcraft?) was also featured on the lists. In the area of business and finance, the herbal specialists promise help with attracting customers, selling property, having good luck, finding and keeping jobs, getting promotions, winning court cases, and starting enterprises. The one service I found that related to kids was help with passing exams.

As an alternative to these traditional healers, some churches offer "deliverance" services or ceremonies. These are designed to deal with the same problems listed above, plus such issues as being troubled by nightmares or disturbing thoughts, or being possessed by demonic spirits. They consist of vigorous prayers and "laying on of hands", punctuated by singing and dancing. Some of my students have attended such observances and report that many people are helped by the interventions.

Personally, I'm sticking to "an apple a day" and positive thinking--seems to work for me!

Come, sisters, let's put a little wiggle in our walk!

2011-06-07T00:05:00.000-07:00

Friday afternoon this past week we went to the Kitwe Copperbelt Agriculture and Technology Exhibition, or what in the U.S. we would call a county fair.

In a lot of ways it was like the county fairs I have attended in the past. There were competitions for the biggest and best produce grown by different farmers. (It's amazing how huge some pumpkins can grow--but here they are cream-colored, not orange. People cook the leaves as greens, as well as eating chunks of pumpkin as a vegetable.) Farm machinery was on display. Kids could get their faces painted and buy cotton candy, popcorn, and fritters. Nurseries had acres of plants for sale. There were pony rides and bicycle trick competitions and many marching bands in their full dress uniforms, complete with baton twirlers.

For amusement there was a live snake and crocodile house with lots of interesting specimens, an arena with rotating entertainment acts, competitive break dancing, clowns with balloons, and more.

For education we visited halls with materials about cancer, HIV/AIDS, diabetes, malaria and other diseases, information about the work of NGOs on gender and development, centers on environmental issues, displays of medicinal plants, and various government-sponsored exhibits. We enjoyed seeing the art gallery which had an exhibition of drawings and paintings by children from various schools.

Vendors were selling many different items, including fresh and prepared food, tools, toys, clothing imported from different Asian and African countries, plants, sports equipment, and animals. One snack stand reminded me of the Oscar Meyer “wienermobile” that used to tour around America. Instead of a car shaped like a hot dog, it was a kiosk shaped like a Coke bottle on its side, with a window in the middle to sell the drinks.

We visited a hall sponsored by the area prison, where they had exhibits describing their programs and services. They were also selling items made by inmate workers in the prison industry at that institution, as well as crafts produced by individual prisoners on their own. I bought a doormat and even met the woman who had designed and made it.

Since it was a school day, many nursery school and primary level classes were there from different schools on field trips. In Zambia all school children wear uniforms, so these school groups made big splashes of color wherever they went. I watched one group which appeared to include the entire school, one grade behind the next like stairsteps. The uniform for each grade had a small variation--a different colored sash or style shirt so you could tell the grades apart, but the basic color scheme was the same, and there must have been over 100 kids there in their lemon yellow and tangerine accented outfits.

Speaking of clothing, members of political parties, or supporters of specific candidates, often advertise their preferences with wearing apparel. In addition to custom tee-shirts (which are not so common here), the outstanding article of political attire is the chitenge (2 yards of fabric used as a wrap-around skirt) with the image of the candidate in huge medallions all over the cloth. I saw many supporters of Rupiah Banda, the incumbent President, at the fair in their political chitenges. Some of the women had quite broad backsides, giving plenty of exposure to his smiling face!

We left at dusk with new plants for our gardens, educational materials for our classes, and a handmade basket and doormat. I had learned about some vegetables and grains I had never encountered before, and my mind was filled with a collage of colorful images for my memory bank. It was a good day.

spare wheels and side dishes

2011-05-29T12:34:00.001-07:00

I just read an excellent article by Jim Wallis (of Sojourner's magazine) about some of the powerful men in America and elsewhere--politicians, sports figures, celebrities, and CEOs--who have been in the news for their disrespectful, abusive and denigrating behavior toward the women in their lives. The revelations have included extramarital relationships, sexual harassment, assault, and more. And yet these men generally maintain their positions in business, politics, and entertainment and seem to suffer few consequences for their actions. Jim Wallis calls for men, as well as women, to speak out forcefully against these abuses. If you are interested in reading his commentary, go to www.godspolitics.com, his blog. It is also on the Sojourners' web site.

Here in southern Africa we hear of "side dishes" and "spare wheels"--the girlfriend a married man may have in addition to his wife. Women bemoan the frequency of this occurrence. They acknowledge that many women stay with their husbands despite these relationships because of economic dependency or religious teachings about divorce.

In addition to these extramarital affairs, another common experience for women is initiation into sexual activity by older men. Teenage girls are frequently seduced, enticed, pressured or forced into sexual encounters, often resulting in pregnancy or sexually transmitted infections.

These patterns of behavior--early initiation into sex and husbands who are unfaithful--contribute substantially to the incidence of HIV/AIDS among women here. In the age group 15-24, the rate of infection is actually higher for women than it is for men.

The point Jim Wallis made in his commentary about disrespect for and abuse of women was that men must speak up and condemn this behavior. Women regularly respond to such problems by complaining, confiding, and expressing their outrage. Sometimes they organize, as in the "take back the night" movement. He points out that men are less likely to do so.

Here in Zambia I have noticed such matter-of-fact and casual references to the prevalence of girlfriends on the side that it almost sounds like expected, even acceptable, behavior. Unless this attitude changes, the practice will not change. Cultural customs are difficult to confront and challenge, but they can and do change with organized movements and persistent effort. We can begin at home with the socialization of our sons and daughters. And we can speak up to condemn behavior that demeans and harms the dignity of women, whoever is the perpetrator and however common it may seem.

Should I be concerned about the ants in my computer?

2011-05-22T06:37:00.000-07:00

Maybe I have eaten cookies too close to my laptop's keyboard, and a few crumbs have fallen between the keys. That's the only explanation I can come up with to account for the invasion of the tiny ants into my computer. And without a vacuum cleaner, I'm not sure how to suck up the crumbs, let alone the insects. Fortunately the ants seem to be a seasonal occurrence, so in a few weeks they may disappear. Meantime, I have troops of ants marching around in my computer.

These tiny ants also somehow manage to get into the boiled water while it is cooling. And they are so exceptionally tiny that they are visible, but hard to fish out. So I have told the kids, as I give them drinks, that it is okay to drink a few ants--they add protein to their diet.

This week I have been thinking about my "only in Zambia" experiences. These might happen in other places, but my encounters have been here. I'll share a few.

Some of the women from church told me one day that there is a Bible study every Friday afternoon for our zone. They wanted me to know that I would be welcome to attend, someone would translate from Bemba for me. I told them I would come whenever I could, and wrote it in my calendar. So the next Friday, I walked to church, where a few women were beginning to gather. They greeted me warmly. Then the women who had invited me to come asked if I would like to lead the Bible study. "Today?" I asked. They nodded. I don't know if the intended leader was ill or if they felt asking me to present was a polite thing to do. I thought the best response was yes. Was there a particular Scripture for the study? Apparently not, I could choose. I decided that my strength for a spur-of-the-moment topic was forgiveness, so I chose several passages and led a discussion of its importance, value, and difficulty of in our lives. Various people shared; forgiveness is always a juicy topic.

Similarly, as an "invited guest" at a fundraiser or other festive occasion, I have been asked unexpectedly to make a few remarks or to "give a word of encouragement." Now I try to remember to come prepared.

Few people keep pets here. There are stray cats that wander around the campus, at their own risk. Cats, especially black cats, are seen as symbols of witchcraft or of evil. Children might throw stones at them. A small black cat started coming by my door, and since I spoke kindly to him, he adopted me. I decided not to try to make him a house cat, but just to feed him at the back door. After awhile, I began to try to pet him. As soon as he saw me move my arm, he would run and hide, afraid of being hit. It has taken months to win his confidence, but he will only come to be stroked when no one else is near. The belief in witchcraft persists in Zambia, even among educated urban dwellers, and cats suffer for it. So do widows. Often the relatives of the husband will accuse the widow of killing her husband by poison or witchcraft. Of course, this allegation helps to justify their repossession of all of the late husband's belongings and property. This situation exists in many developing countries, not only in Zambia.

Here, it is common for people to drop by for a friendly visit at any time of the day or evening, without advance notice, and sometimes with no particular purpose except to greet you and talk for a few minutes. It reminds me of when I was a child living out in the country, where people might come by on a Sunday afternoon to sit and chat. Only in Zambia, though, have I had visitors at 6 am, even once on a Saturday. Those early birds have generally been students with a request or a purpose. They have morning prayers at 5 am some mornings, so I guess most of them are dressed and ready to go at daybreak.

One of my favorite "only in Zambia" experiences is the spontaneous dancing in church. If the choir is singing a favorite praise song in Bemba, with a strong beat, some of the women, older as well as younger, will spill into the aisles and begin to dance. The spirited movement, and the ululations, are testimony to their openness and their joy. I am aware of how often my inhibitions prevent me from doing something expressive, and I try to learn from these women.

Living in a different culture is a constantly enriching experience. I recommend it to other retirees!

Water Woes--and more

2011-05-16T06:33:00.000-07:00

I sensed something was wrong last Tuesday when I wasn't awakened by the sound of the water system coming on. Usually, the pipes sing and the faucet drips and the toilet tank fills starting sometime between 5 and 5:30 am. MEF water then stays on till about 9 am. It comes back from noon-2 pm, and the final period of water service is from 5-8 pm. We all learn to store water in barrels, buckets, and tubs and to plan our bathing and cooking schedules around water availability.

Moses came to tend the garden. He was able to water from the huge metal drum kept by the back door, but it took every drop to cover the vegetable beds. No water came on at noon, so we could not refill the drum. By dinnertime, I had used all the water in the hot water tank for doing dishes. We had to start rationing the drinks of water requested by kids, who were thirsty from playing outdoors after school. All I had left was the bathtub full of water.

When service had not been restored the next day, we learned that the ancient water pump that brings water from the dam had broken down. No one was sure how long it would take to fix it, but every effort was being made. It was working again by the end of the second day. But this week we have had no power for 2 of the last 3 days. (That, however, is the responsibility of the electric company, not MEF.)

The larger context of this little water problem is that many parts of the MEF campus are in dire need of upkeep, repair, and/or replacement. With scarce resources, priority has been given to programs to the detriment of the facility.

On Friday, a meeting of all staff was held. Our new Director, a dynamic, wise, and energetic man, announced that we will engage in a participatory strategic planning process to set directions and action steps for sustainable development for MEF. He was honest about the current financial status and the concerns of donor agencies. He encouraged us to see the hope in our situation and to be creative in our thinking.

Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation was established in 1958 as a Pan African Center for reflection, study, training, and worship. Over the years, MEF has offered training and consultation on community development, gender issues, peace and conflict transformation, leadership development for clergy and laypersons, and responses to the socio-economic and human rights concerns of the continent. When it was founded, it was unique and drew participants and students from all over the region. Today there is more competition from other training centers. MEF has established residential diploma programs in social work, community development, and media studies. These courses could be made available to students from nearby areas, but so far they have been directed exclusively to Zambians. Certainly there are many issues and possibilities to explore in this planning process.

Keep us in your thoughts and prayers as we struggle together to seek a plan for MEF's future--and as we cope with periodic shortages of water and power in our daily lives.

Please Don't Eat the Play Dough!

2011-05-08T07:06:00.000-07:00

It didn't happen to occur to us to give that instruction. When no one was looking, a hungry little girl did eat some play dough. And yes, it makes you sick. Immediately!

This happened at the Fun Day in Kamatipa, a compound near Kitwe that Jenny has been working with. She has organized a women's self-help group there. Based on their concern for the many orphans and vulnerable children not in school, they have been working on a project to start a recreation program for community children. It is in the planning and early implementation stage. The Fun Day was an event to celebrate progress and to provide a taste of what will be available when the playground/recreation center is in operation.

Adrian, our chaplain, several of my students and I went along to help Jenny, her local group of women and her two Zambian social workers connected with this project. We, the food, the drink, the sports equipment and the games all piled into the pickup at 7:30 am for a crowded ride to Kamatipa. Jenny had to make a second trip for the drums and drummers, since there was not enough space the first time around.

Once we arrived, children from toddlers through teens started flocking to the field. They could choose a soccer clinic, a girls' game of dodge-ball, a small kids' circle for "duck, duck, goose' (in Bemba), a game with flying discs, some organized races and tag, group jump rope, drumming and dancing. At least 200 children came. After awhile, we set up a coloring station with African images and designs, a puzzle area with big jigsaw floor puzzles, a play dough center, checkers, bean bag toss, and other games.

The jump ropes were made by tying lengths of rubber belting together into a large circle. Then two of the student helpers would stand a distance apart pulling the rope circle into a double strand held taut at ankle level. As the girls lined up to jump, the rope was moved higher and higher, finally to waist height. The ability of the little girls to jump over and through the stretchy rope was amazing.

The checker boards were painted on panels cut from cardboard boxes, and the "checkers" were two different colors of bottle caps. Recycling was the source of many of the materials used in this Fun Day. Some of the children had brought their own balls made at home from plastic bags. And I was amused by the messages on some of the recycled (used) tee shirts I saw on different kids. One little girl's top said "I love shopping." Another instructed "Recycle my little brother". A shirt commemorating the Band Camp Bean Eating Contest was on another youth. Then there were the usual shirts celebrating locations such as Las Vegas and institutions such as New York University. One local shirt advocated "Know Your HIV Status" with the message "Live Positively" on the back.

At the end of the morning, the kids lined up for a cup of munkoyo (a drink rather like horchata, but made from mealie meal), a fritter, and a candy. The adults had juice drink and banana cake cupcakes I had made for the occasion.

We returned to MEF exhausted but refreshed by the success of the day. No one needed first aid, there was enough food for everyone to be fed, the joy of the kids was palpable, and even the adults seemed to have had a good time at the Fun Day.

Healing Energy

2011-05-01T14:41:00.000-07:00

My latest new experience is being sick in Zambia. The care and concern has been overwhelming!

Easter week was a school break. Other than grading three sets of papers, I was planning to read, take walks, and watch a few movies. However, I found myself feeling tired, and I started experiencing sharp pain on the right side when I took a deep breath. As taking even short breaths became uncomfortable and a case of diarrhea hit, I finally decided to go to see a doctor. Jenny took me to the private clinic run by the mining company after Good Friday services.

Unfortunately, Friday was the beginning of a four-day public holiday. We were lucky to find a doctor on call, but they could not do a chest x-ray until Tuesday. The blood test showed an elevated white cell count, so I was given an antibiotic and pain pills and sent home until Tuesday. I spent a miserable few days, tied to the house by the severe diarrhea. However, the natural helping network was already mobilizing, as people stopped by to see how I was feeling, to pray for healing, and to offer help with transportation or anything else I needed. Sister Margaret, the MEF nurse, sent oral rehydration powder.

Long story short, on Tuesday I was diagnosed with giardia and pneumonia. The doctor prescribed a strong antibiotic and another medication, plus a week of rest and nutritious food. Jenny made homemade chicken soup. Students offered to spend the night, as Violet also had. Adrian asked for prayers in chapel, along with a request to let me rest. Violet stayed all day each day to monitor visitors and help in the kitchen. We made signs to alert the kids that I would not be making sandwiches for awhile. Women from church brought communion after services. People phoned to wish me well.

There are several lessons I have drawn from this experience. The first one was that I need to pay better attention to my body. The pneumonia probably started in late January, when I had a productive cough for weeks. I ignored it because everyone was coughing, and besides, my pride got in the way. I never get sick! So I was stoic about the cough, and gradually it subsided. (The doctor here says that the reason I didn't have more pain is because I take an anti-inflammatory, Piroxicam, and that kept the inflammation in my lung down.)

A second lesson is to ask for and accept help when I need it. I tend to try not to bother people and to do things for myself that others would happily do for me out of their caring. Too much self-reliance and self-sufficiency can interfere with reciprocity and support.

Through this experience, the MEF community has shown deep loving care and protection. I'm thankful to be surrounded by so much healing energy as I am recovering.

do different worldviews make a difference?

2011-04-26T15:35:00.000-07:00

The contrast between the observance of the Easter season in Zambia and at home in America reflects a deep cultural difference in worldview. I have been thinking about what we can learn from each other.

The first thing I noticed here was the absence of any special observance of Lent. In many mainstream Protestant and all Catholic churches in America, there are Ash Wednesday services to mark the beginning of the Lenten season. This is the time when we remember the 40 days Jesus spent in the wilderness, fasting and preparing for his ministry. Many church members use Lent as a time for study and reflection in preparation for Easter. The custom of fasting has diminished in importance, but some people give up a food or a habit or an activity as a symbol of self-sacrifice. The church may be decorated differently and the hymns change to reflect the more somber mood of the season. In Zambia, I noticed no difference at church worship or activities. [However, I recalled that every couple of months, there are all-night prayer and fasting services at our church on weekends, and this is a popular occurrence in all churches.]

Here, the Easter observance begins the full week before Easter Sunday. Well-attended services took place each day. To my amazement, these Holy Week services were full of joyful music and praise. Even more than usual! When the beat of the song was strong and fast, older women would at first stand up in the pews and move to the beat, then come forward and dance traditional dances, accompanied by ululations. A few younger men and women would join them, but the spirit clearly was especially present among women of a grandmotherly age. They radiated spiritual energy, bordering on ecstasy. Even the Good Friday service was upbeat. One day during the week, we actually sang "Joy to the World", in Bemba, and no one but the Muzungus thought it odd to be singing a Christmas carol in April.

The tempo and exuberance of the services seemed to increase as the week progressed. Although I was feeling under the weather and did not attend Holy Thursday services, I could hear the singing and dancing all the way to my house, a fair distance from the church. (Turns out they take the service outdoors with candles on Thursday, and sound travels far on this campus.) I did attend Good Friday, and again it was joyful. The emphasis was not on the suffering of Jesus, but on the gift of forgiveness and redemption he represented by his sacrifice.

I was discussing this with Ryan, a young minister from the USA who is working here. He and Molly, his minister spouse, were giving their training in another location during Holy Week, and they reported the same kind of services there. His idea, with which I agree, is that in America, we have mostly given up the concept of sin. I thought about the public figures who have apologized for their misdeeds by saying "mistakes were made" or, a littler more honestly, confessed "I made a mistake." I don't think that calling the offense a mistake is quite the same as facing up to the reality that I did something reprehensible that hurt other people and I am sorry for it (not just sorry for being caught.) I've seen occasional statements of repentance, but mostly our culture isn't very preoccupied with acknowledging our personal or corporate sins.

Anyway, Ryan said that in America we need to be reminded of sin and its cost, and for Christians that happens on Holy Thursday and Good Friday. Here in Zambia, personal sin is a culturally accepted concept, mentioned often and emphasized in prayers and in those old-fashioned hymns we sing. In fact, daily life is often seen as consumed by struggles with the devil and temptation. Most of the messages in chapel are about personal morality. So much attention is focused on trying to avoid sin that people give much less emphasis to the potential for good that is within, and the importance of cultivating their strengths and gifts. And this preoccupation with personal sin means there less focus on the need to listen for God's promptings in leading one into new challenges, new ways to work to carry the messages of love and redemption into the world.

So my thought is that we could each learn something from the other about life and how to work with the human condition--imperfect, struggling, looking for the best way to live meaningfully. We in America could stand a little more serious thought about sin and about the effects of our behavior on others. In Zambia they could benefit from less moralistic judgment of self and others, and more focus on co-creating the world of peace, love, and forgiveness modeled by Jesus.

an easter surprise

2011-04-18T02:45:00.000-07:00

Sometimes in Zambia people make amazing things happen on very short notice.

When I left for my trip to Arizona at the end of March, my Community-Based Intervention Strategies class was continuing their work on four projects to improve the social life on campus. They had reinstituted movie/game nights every Saturday evening and were helping prepare refreshments each week. Sports practice and competitions were underway, including scheduled games with teams from nearby institutions. A debate was set to take place during my absence. The topic was whether traditional African gender roles were detrimental to women. (The side arguing for the proposition won.) The final project, a campus-wide talent show, was still under discussion, to take place in early May.

Upon my return, the talent show had been transformed into an Easter concert, and it would be happening the following Friday! The chaplain had organized a worship planning committee to guide his work. When they met the first of April, they decided that MEF should celebrate Easter in some way before the students returned home for the Easter week break April 16-25. Several students from my community class were on this committee. When an Easter concert was mentioned, they recognized that this could include song, dance, poetry, drama--everything intended for the talent show except the eating contest. The students knew that many singing groups were already practicing for Easter, including our own Echoes of Joy. They also knew that MEF could probably only provide financial support for one event of this kind during the semester. To avoid competition, they collaborated on the new idea.

The concert took place at Charles Fisher Hall and included choral offerings, a re-enactment of the Last Supper, interpretive dance and traditional dance, a poem, and even a clown-like character interpreting gospel music. The Director and several staff came as well as students and people from our sister institutions on campus (the YWCA, the Anglican seminary, Theological Education by Extension Zambia, and the theology college.) Some of the choirs were from these other institutions as well as neighboring schools. It went on from 5-9 pm, and everyone considered it a great success.

Easter is an important festival time here. Yesterday was Palm Sunday. There was a huge gathering in Kitwe of many of the area churches of all denominations for an early morning procession, everyone carrying palm branches and singing. Participants marched for awhile, then stopped for a message or an anthem by one of the choirs, then processed again. That took place from 7 am to 10 am. Then each congregation went to its own church to have a worship service, mostly lasting until noon or 1 pm. The rest of the week there will be daily services, becoming more somber as the week progresses through Good Friday, then joyful again on Easter Sunday. I have not encountered any of our traditions of the Easter bunny or colored eggs or baskets of candy, but most families will share a festive meal.

I wish all of you a blessed Easter, however you observe the holiday.

Overwhelming, Wonderful, and Troubling

2011-04-09T07:14:00.000-07:00

The 2-week gap in my blogging came about because of my absence from Zambia. Going back to the USA for a brief visit was all of the following: overwhelming, wonderful, and troubling.

The overwhelming part was the faster pace, the multitude of products for sale, the garbage-free streets, all the contrasts with Zambia. I could turn on my computer and the Internet would be there--no waiting, no need to use a mobile Internet device. The roads were smooth. Stores were huge and full of stuff. I kept getting lost in Target as I hunted for items from my list of things to take back to Zambia: wind-up flashlights, good pens, basketballs, and more. Shopping for computers for MEF was a dizzying experience in Best Buy. The technician would explain various features and the distinctions between this laptop and the next one. Even with price range and most important characteristics specified (as cheap as possible while assuring durability and reliability for general word and data processing purposes), there were still many choices and decisions to make. I kept noticing that everyone was wearing shoes all the time, and few people walked anywhere in Tucson.

The wonderful part was being with my children and grandchildren and seeing friends. We had a delightful event for the Andy Nichols Fund, held jointly with the Dr. Augusto Ortiz Fund, to celebrate the continuing work on rural health, border health, mobile health outreach, and advocacy for health care for all. One of the students who received a Nichols Fund scholarship told about her project just over the border in Mexico. She is working with a group of people with disabilities. They have designed a durable custom-fit wheelchair which is stable when used on rough and rocky roads. They now manufacture these chairs for others as well as for their own use.

In addition to this event, we held a brief commemorative service and placed Andy's ashes in the columbarium at First Christian Church while I was home in Tucson. The columbarium was Andy's dream. The garden area is a peaceful place to visit, and it felt good to remember him there. It seems hardly possible that it has been ten years since his death...

The troubling part of the visit was encountering the regressive policies and practices that dominate the political scene in Arizona. So many of the decisions and actions at the state and national level are eroding the foundation of our society. Where is our sense of community? Why is there so much greed and fear? How is it that we are not outraged by the dwindling middle class and the growing gap between the super-rich and all the rest of us? We are starving the universities and transferring much of the cost of higher education onto the student. How will they manage that debt? America is becoming less a land of opportunity and more a place of struggle to provide for basic survival necessities. Should there be so much need for food stamps and community food banks in a country of such abundance?

Here in Zambia, life is also a struggle, and many people do not have even the most basic needs met on a daily basis. But life seems fairer somehow without the huge discrepancies in salaries and lifestyles. And here we sing and dance a lot. America somehow felt a lot grimmer.

I have decided to stay in Zambia until December 2011. There is meaningful work for me here. It is a time of learning, reflection, study, and service. I believe that I am meant to be here for this time. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers.

Lessons from an Avocado Tree

2011-03-20T13:46:00.000-07:00

One day shortly after my arrival in Zambia I was chatting with my neighbor, Jenny, in my back yard. She observed that it was a shame my avocado tree didn't produce fruit. I was surprised to learn that I had an avocado tree. My acquaintance with how avocados grew came from sprouting their seeds in an effort to grow house plants in the distant past. I had not recognized that one of the many trees in my yard, along with those bearing mangos and guavas, was a tall, leafy, but barren avocado tree.

The next day I spoke with Moses, who tends my garden. We looked at the tree and saw that it needed care. It was receiving no water in the dry season. That day we dug a trench around it and gave it water. Moses thought compost might help nourish the ground around it, so he added compost to the soil. Some weeks later when he was using chicken manure to fertilize another part of the garden, he included the avocado tree in his treatment.

With time, the tree began to bear fruit. Lots of fruit. We picked the low-hanging fruit, some avocados fell off the tree and we gathered them up, and sometimes Moses climbed the tree to get the high fruit before it fell. I had avocados to eat and avocados to share. There is a family here at MEF with a child with disabilities who follows a special diet including avocados, so I became a major supplier for their needs. When students asked, I gave them avocados to add to their meals.

As I reflected on the avocado tree, it seemed to me there was a lesson to be learned. Any living thing that is neglected and not nourished may stop producing fruit. In our own spiritual life, if we take no time for meditation, singing, reading sacred texts, praying, or following other practices that nourish our souls, we can become lost and dry. The hopeful part of the message is that even a little attention and nurture may renew and restore us.

Another lesson came from the avocado tree. One day recently, Moses asked if I had given permission for someone to harvest most of the fruit that was still on the tree. I said no. He asked me to look at the tree. Indeed, all of the low-hanging avocados were gone--quite a few, in fact. Moses said he had seen one of the casual workers from MEF that morning, selling avocados in the Nakadole Market. He suspected they were from my tree. My first reaction was to be angry that someone stole my avocados. Then I thought about the fact that fruit trees are often seen here as community property, especially if they are not behind a fence or a wall. My tree is on the edge of the yard, close to a path used by many people. And I also realized that the money that came from the sale in the market was probably needed for school fees or other family expenses. The worker might even have interpreted my sharing of the avocados with many neighbors as permission to participate in the bounty of my now fruitful tree.

And there is still the high fruit yet to be harvested... What a great tree!

Holidays

2011-03-11T13:16:00.000-08:00

Zambia commemorates two national holidays in the same week in their calendar: International Women's Day (March 8) and International Youth Day (March 12). Just as last year, we observed these days with special chapel services at MEF, and there were parades and demonstrations in Kitwe in which many students, workers, and staff participated. A neighbor with a television set reported seeing some of us at the Women's Day parade on the local news.

This year, MEF hosted a workshop on gender-based violence in conjunction with International Women's Day. Usually this topic is the focus of two-week training sessions for which there is a substantial registration fee. This workshop was free and open to the entire campus. It was a fitting way to celebrate the holiday.

I planned to write a litany for our chapel service, but while online to look something up, I found all the ideas I wanted to include in a litany already developed for the occasion by a UN-related ecumenical group. We found it so meaningful that I would like to share it with all of you.

A Litany of Truth
.... As women we come to refute untruths, to challenge injustices, to confront oppressive structures that bind us. We, therefore, are called to declare the following truths:

One voice: IT IS NOT TRUE that women should feel and experience that being a woman is of secondary value to the community.

All: THIS IS TRUE: that women are created women, the image of God, co-workers with God in caring for life, in struggling for the liberation of humanity and for a world order that respects each one’s dignity.

One voice: IT IS NOT TRUE that land has to be robbed from women and their communities by transnational, profit-hungry companies.

All: THIS IS TRUE: that the earth belongs to the living God and God’s people belong to the earth.

One voice: IT IS NOT TRUE that women–and men–must remain divided by sexism, racism, economic injustices and imperialism.

All: THIS IS TRUE: that all women and men are called to be in solidarity with each other’s struggle for dignity and justice, to learn from one another and to challenge one another as sisters and brothers in critical and prophetic solidarity.

One voice: IT IS NOT TRUE that becoming a refugee is an acceptable and inevitable situation for millions of women and their children.

All: THIS IS TRUE: that the whole people of God is called to denounce militarism, to challenge the root causes of poverty in the name of God of Hagar, who as a refugee was the first person who dared to give God a name.

One voice: IT IS NOT TRUE that women should accept rape and incest, battering and humiliation, as the fate of women.

All: THIS IS TRUE: that Jesus Christ has come into the world to heal the broken community between women and men, to restore our sense of self, dignity and inclusion.

One voice: IT IS NOT TRUE that young girls should not be given the opportunity to learn how to read, to write, and how to analyze the developments of their countries.

All: THIS IS TRUE: that everyone is called to respond to the gift of life and to the needs of our community with all our heart, all our soul and all our reason.

One voice: IT IS NOT TRUE that sexual slavery, bondage and prostitution cannot be counteracted or eliminated.

All: THIS IS TRUE: that Jesus Christ has come into the world to overturn the tables of injustice, that women and men, empowered by the Holy Spirit, should challenge poverty and patriarchal culture.

One voice: IT IS NOT TRUE that women and men cannot live in mutual and just relationships, respecting one another’s integrity and personhood.

All: THIS IS TRUE: that God the Creator has given us the responsibility and trust to care for all of creation in humility and faithfulness, to work and to love as co-creators of God.

HOLY LIVING GOD, The day and the night whisper your name And sparrows proclaim your glory. Make us, by grace, the winds of justice and the flames of peace in the world. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Anna Karin Hammar and Jean Sindab
Into Action: A Resource for Participation in the Ecumenical Decade
Churches in Solidarity with Women
http://ecumenicalwomen.wordpress.com/theology/worship-resources/prayers-litanies-and-creeds/a-litany-of-truth/

May I see your license, please?

2011-03-07T08:20:00.000-08:00

Until recently, every time I was in a private vehicle going to town, we had to stop at a moveable police road stop along the way. Usually we were waved through, but we noticed that others were sometimes detained. The purpose of the road block was not clear, it just seemed to materialize and be in operation some days, and not on others.

Now we have learned that such road blocks have been discontinued except when there is a specific reason to set it up. Why? They were revealed to be a mechanism for extorting bribes if the police could find some fault or defect with the vehicle or the driver. A number of traffic police had become quite wealthy from the system.

BBC reported recently that a survey conducted in developing countries identified corruption as the most important issue on people's minds. Certainly it has been in the news here in Zambia. This was especially true when international funding agencies withheld $300 million in grants for combating malaria and other diseases because the Health Ministry could not account for how last year's grant was spent.

Transparency International defines corruption as "abuse of entrusted power for private gain." Every year they produce a report providing a numerical value representing the perceived corruption in 175 of the world's countries. If a country receives a rating close to 10, they would be considered "highly clean". The Scandinavian countries and New Zealand receive ratings near that standard. A zero rating signifies a country perceived as "highly corrupt."
Zambia's 2010 rating is 3.0. USA's is 7.0. Three-quarters of the countries included in the list fall below a rating of 5, so corruption is quite a persistent problem in most of the world. It can be found in public works and construction projects, defense and arms contracts, and other areas of large government spending. Practices such as nepotism, political patronage, and bribery abound.

Zambia has an anti-corruption agency, but a weak legal system to back it up. Ordinary citizens seem resigned to corruption as an evil that cannot be stopped. We have not seen street demonstrations here as have been happening in Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya, but at least one newspaper has called for Zambians to organize to protest corruption and demand better governance. I wonder how much more investment in education Zambia could afford if corruption were reduced. It's an expensive phenomenon, worthy of a campaign to confront it.

And what about America? A rating of 7 is nothing to be proud of. What can we do to become "cleaner"?

What's in a Song?

2011-02-28T05:22:00.000-08:00

"Pass me not, O gentle Savior, hear my humble cry..." If I'm late to chapel, my walk is enriched by the sound of voices lifted in song. They are loud enough to be heard several blocks away

Singing here in Zambia is joyful, vigorous, and forceful. Most of the singing is a cappella, at least in chapel and many gatherings. One congregation I visited used discarded American hymnals, but all the others have had songbooks with words only--or nothing at all. Most people know the words to the songs by memory. And, as I noted in a previous blog, hardly anyone here reads music. So all that is required is the written words and someone who knows the melody.

The hymns in Bemba are mostly "call and response" praise songs. The ones in English are traditional hymns brought over by the first missionaries, complete with ancient English terms (like "hath" for "has") and 19th Century sentiments.

This provides a challenge for me. Not only is the language totally male-dominated, but the theology is outdated, or at least out of fashion in the churches I attend at home. We no longer use military imagery in many of our mainline churches, but here we sing, "Stand up, stand up for Jesus, ye soldiers of the cross, Lift high His royal banner, it must not suffer loss..." Although we have not sung it often, "Onward Christian Soldiers" is in the book, too.

And then there is the fascination--or at least a full comfort--with blood. "Would you be free from the burden of sin? There's power in the blood, pow'r in the blood, Would you o'er evil a victory win? There's wonderful pow'r in the blood...There is pow'r, pow'r, wonder-working pow'r, in the blood of the Lamb, There is pow'r, pow'r, wonder-working pow'r in the precious blood of the Lamb." I counted seven "blood hymns" in our songbook, including "Are you washed in the blood?" "Nothing but the blood of Jesus" and "Wash me in the fountain of your blood." An American pastor here who teaches in the Theology Education by Extension Program (TEEZ) located on the MEF campus told me that in African-American churches where he has worshipped in America, songs with reference to the blood of Jesus are also popular.

But the biggest area of cultural clash for me comes from the overwhelming popularity here of hymns counseling submissive obedience. The two that we sing over and over when we ask for requests from the songbook are "All to Jesus I Surrender" and "Trust and Obey." The choruses go like this: For the first, "I surrender all, I surrender all, All to Thee, my blessed Savior, I surrender all." The other is "Trust and obey, for there's no other way, To be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey." There is an important message here, and perhaps one we Americans with our self-reliance, skepticism, and challenging questioning need to hear more often. But here it seems to reinforce an orientation toward unquestioning acceptance of authority. It tends to discourage any critical thinking in areas of faith.

No one here seems to have heard my favorite hymn, "Help Us Accept Each Other" (tune: barrownita) or Andy's favorite hymn, "God of Grace and God of Glory." One of the verses of mine says "Teach us to care for people, for all, not just for some, to love them as we find them, or as they may become." Andy's hymn calls us to have courage and wisdom as we use the power God gives us to confront the world's warring madness, greed, and other social (as well as personal) evils.

We are going to print a supplement to our chapel songbook, so I'm looking for ideas of more contemporary--or at least more diverse--strong hymns to put into the collection. Any suggestions?

Good news: our songbook does include "Lord of the Dance," which we sing with gusto!

What's in a Name?

2011-02-21T02:13:00.000-08:00

One of our Pan African students is named Divine Engagement. Her African given name, Botho, means respect, in the sense of respect for all creation. She is from Botswana. Imagine having a name meaning Respect For All Creation [with] Divine Engagement!

For some people, a set of names suggesting such lofty ideals might be a burden. Not for Botho. She radiates joy. She brings enthusiasm into the room with her. When she leads worship in the chapel, she dances as she directs us in singing songs of praise. She's small in stature, but large in presence.

BBC World Service broadcasts a program on Sunday mid-day called "Something Understood." Yesterday the theme was spiritual energy. After a series of readings and musical offerings, the commentator suggested that spiritual energy was available to all of us, if we were willing to seek and ask for it. But it doesn't just come, unbidden. We have to desire it, to be open to it, to embrace and use it. I thought of Botho Divine Engagement when I heard this program. She is full of spiritual energy, and she uses it to connect with those around her in a deep and joyful way.

Was it spiritual energy that kept Nelson Mandela strong during his years of incarceration? Was it spiritual energy that has enabled Aung San Suu Kyi to thrive despite years of persecution and house arrest? Certainly Ghandi radiated spiritual energy.

I used to lead Alternatives to Violence workshops in the Federal Correctional Institution in Tucson, as well as in the community. In that program, we talked about Transforming Power. Hard to define but easy to recognize, Transforming Power was understood as a resource bigger than ourselves, but available to us, that could help us change our attitudes or responses in potentially violent situations. I think somehow we were talking about spiritual energy. Participants gave testimony to the turning points in their lives that were created when they called upon Transforming Power.

Some might say it was spiritual energy that the early Christians received at Pentecost, that inspired them to take a message of love and forgiveness out to the world. Spiritual energy leads to action.

It's easy to think of our great examples of people who seemed to possess and use spiritual energy--the Martin Luther Kings and Eleanor Roosevelts of the world. But if spiritual energy is potentially available to all of us, why don't we see more of it? Botho Divine Engagement brings light wherever she goes. She is an ordinary person, but a person in touch with a power and a spirit that she transmits to others. Maybe spiritual energy is like a gift we have, waiting to be unwrapped and used.

I suspect that we have the potential to cultivate spiritual energy through practicing such disciplines as meditation, prayer, and reflection. We also must want to have it. Being filled with spiritual energy would mean that we would have to be willing to let it lead us into deeper engagement with others and with the source of all being.

Is that what scares us off...or keeps content with where we are? Or perhaps I should be honest and ask if that is what scares me and keeps me too busy with life?

Musical Chairs

2011-02-12T01:13:00.000-08:00

In the party game of musical chairs, the room is set up with a row of chairs containing one chair fewer than the number of participants. Music plays, and when the music stops, everyone must try to find a seat. The "leftover" person is sent out of the game, another chair is removed, and the music begins again. It ends when there is just one chair and two contestants, with one competitor winning the seat--and therefore the game.

I have always liked the cooperative version of the game in which the chairs are set up the same way, say 9 chairs for 10 players. When the music stops, the ten participants must fit themselves into the nine chairs. Lap sitting is allowed, as well as squeezing two people onto one chair. It becomes more challenging as more and more chairs are removed, but there are still 10 participants. In the end all are laughing as they try to see how many people they can squeeze or stack onto a few chairs.

Well, I have thought of musical chairs on more than one occasion here at MEF. Each set of students has an assigned classroom in which to meet for classes and group work. In general, classrooms are equipped with large wooden tables and various kinds of chairs. It's sometimes the tables, but more often the chairs that are the challenge. They seem to migrate from time to time. Sometimes I would arrive at the classroom, only to discover that it was beautifully set up with white cloths on the tables and a full complement of padded chairs. Then I knew that it was intended to be used by a workshop, and my students and I would be using a substitute room. Other times, the chairs would be an odd assortment of plastic chairs, wooden chairs, and chairs with padded seats. If there were too few chairs for the number of participants, students would go into an empty classroom and borrow chairs. They didn't always remember to return them, which was one of the causes of chair migration. And, of course, the underlying problem is scarcity of resources.

Chair migration was a more notable problem in classrooms on the far side of campus. We were never troubled by having our room appropriated for a workshop, perhaps because these rooms were so poorly equipped. We had tables, but if we had chairs, they were usually the old chapel chairs--wooden and poorly constructed, so that some had rough patches that caught your clothes, others were unstable. And all were uncomfortable. There were usually a few nicer chairs, and the first arrivals moved them to their favorite spots around the tables. Some days we would find half as many chairs as students, and we would go on scouting parties to round up enough from various other rooms. Several times I mentioned this problem to someone in administration, but nothing changed.

When the semester started, I tried once again to advocate for enough suitable chairs for this classroom. Although help was promised, nothing happened that week, until Friday. On that morning, there was a festive ceremony in the chapel. It was set up with rows and rows of padded chairs. Later in the day, I saw many of those chairs being placed in the empty room next to my classroom. My students and I then gathered up our broken wooden chairs, placed them in the storage area, and replaced them with the simplest of the padded chairs. Success!

Monday, we were comfortable and happy. Tuesday we discovered two of our tables and several chairs missing, but I knew where they were. A previously empty room across the hall was scheduled for large classes, and I had seen workers moving tables and chairs into it and suspected that they didn't have enough without some of ours. We took back one table and enough chairs for our needs, but we returned the chairs at the end of our class so they would have enough. It seemed like a good plan, just move chairs back and forth as needed, and all would go well. It worked the rest of the week.

The following Monday, we entered our classroom to find that the table we had reclaimed had been removed again, as had all the padded chairs. We had the old wooden chapel chairs back. The particular class that morning was Community Based Intervention Strategies, and the students decided to put what they were learning into practice and try to resolve the chair problem. One student suggested demonstrating, but after discussion the class decided to go through proper channels, and to present their concern in writing as well as by requesting a meeting to discuss the issue. We drafted a respectful and constructive, but clear and critical memo. I agreed to print it the next day and deliver it to the office.

Just after I left the memo with administration the next day, I went to teach again in that classroom--only to find no chairs at all and yet another of our tables missing! I crossed the hall to take some chairs out of the large classroom, and found it padlocked. Now what were we going to do? The students hadn't arrived yet. I scribbled a note of complaint to the head of social work and went to find him at his nearby office. He wasn't there. As the students arrived they sat on the tables and we discussed our options. The storeroom was empty, the other classroom locked. One student went out and found the social work head. We gave him my hand-written note, and the students, still sitting on the tables, vented their frustration and their sense of being second class citizens. He agreed to try to help.

The next day, we had the full set of tables and the correct number of padded chairs in our classroom. So far, it has stayed that way. Was it the memo? The involvement of the social work head? Or just the persistence of raising the complaint enough times that it finally got through to the right person? We don't know, but the students feel more empowered as a result of their part in the intervention.

Let's hope we have seen the end of musical chairs, at least in the classroom!

We and They

2011-02-06T19:11:00.000-08:00

It was a beautiful afternoon, warm and bright, as Zambian days can be after a night of windy rain. I had given out several peanut butter sandwiches and cups of cold water to some of the older kids, middle school age. As I went back to washing dishes, I heard voices raised. The volume and intensity of the interaction increased. It became clear that a child was quite upset. She ran out of the yard, yelling something over her shoulder as she left.

"Violet," I asked. "What was that all about? I didn't like the tone and sound of what the kids were saying." (The argument had all been in Bemba.) "They were teasing Nyla because she isn't Christian," Violet replied. (She is part of the only Muslim family on campus.) "They would not believe her when she said she worships the same God, and she became upset. She said she would come back with a gun and shoot them."

I went out to have a conversation with the boys who had been teasing Nyla. They were astonished to learn that Muslims, Jews, and Christians all worshipped the same God and shared some of the same scriptures and prophets. "But she worships Allah," they insisted. It took quite awhile for us to become clear about the common core of Judaism, Islam and Christianity, and then we turned to a discussion of how it felt to be disrespected and teased. I'm not sure how much of our conversation stuck with them, but they did listen. Some of them consider me an honorary grandmother, with whatever credibility that designation brings.

Cultivating understanding and mutual respect for different religions can be challenging for all of us. I recently read The Faith Club, an account of the exploration of their religious traditions by three women. Their group was formed by a Muslim woman after September 11, when she was afraid that her children might experience discrimination because of their identity. She reached out to a Christian and a Jewish woman with the idea of writing a children's book to promote better understanding of the common elements of the three major monotheistic faiths. The women came to see that they needed to explore their understanding of their own traditions as well as their beliefs about the other faith traditions before they could undertake the writing of a book. Their story is honest, rich and complex.

Zambia matter-of-factly calls itself a "Christian nation." Public schools use Scriptures and Bible stories quite naturally in everyday teaching. There are a multitude of diverse Protestant and Catholic churches here, and most of their services are packed on Sunday mornings and other worship times. Having one strongly predominant faith tradition means that opportunities for interacting with, understanding and respecting different faith traditions is less likely, unless one makes an effort to study or to reach out beyond one's natural community.

I suppose that it is human nature to consider our particular belief system and world view as "right." We may not even be aware that there are alternatives if we live in a mostly homogeneous society. But why, when we encounter difference, don't we automatically think "that is interesting" rather than "that is wrong" or "weird"? How can we cultivate an openness to discovery and understanding rather than fear and apprehension about alternative faiths, political systems, and traditions? Appreciation need not imply acceptance, much less conversion. It does imply a willingness to listen to other perceptions and systems of thinking and an awareness that there are many ways to travel in the journey of life.

My hope is that we will continually seek opportunities to explore the beliefs and traditions of others, and to reflect on our own. Through this exercise, we may come to appreciate the rich diversity in the pathways of the world, as we simultaneously find, create, or confirm the particular path that allows us to live in the light and to radiate light to others.

the sound of music

2011-01-30T05:10:00.000-08:00

Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday afternoon, I am serenaded by the Boys Brigade marching band. Not that they are trying to entertain me. But they practice outdoors by the church, and sound carries far on the MEF campus.

The Boys Brigade is an explicitly Christian organization for school-age boys, somewhat like Boy Scouts. However, while Scouts emphasize camping and nature study as well as recreation, the Boys Brigade emphasizes music along with games and other activities.

Boys Brigade began in Scotland and England over 125 years ago, and their troops are generally based in Protestant churches. The motto is "Sure and Steadfast." The story is told that the first President of the Republic of Zambia, Dr. Kenneth Kaunda, was visiting Scotland and was exceptionally impressed by the Boys Brigade brass band that played in his honor. He introduced the organization in Zambia in 1965.

What I find amazing is that the band plays well, and no one can read music! One day in the human behavior class I teach, we were discussing aspects of thinking, learning, and how memory works. I mentioned the concept of mnemonic devices, and used "every good boy does fine" (how I remember the notes for the lines on the treble clef) and discovered that none of my students had ever seen a musical score. Yet they sing beautifully, often with harmony. Clearly, their ear for music has been cultivated from an early age, and they sing a lot, so practice doubtless helps, too.

I think sometimes of the musical The Music Man when I listen to the Boys Brigade brass band. If Harold Hill had tried his con scheme here in Africa, he wouldn't have needed to escape town after selling the instruments and the uniforms. The kids would have been able to play without formal instruction.

And what do they play? Very old-fashioned hymns that date back to the days of the missionaries, like "Blessed Assurance," "Showers of Blessings," and "Shall We Gather by the River." They also play some secular music but mostly hymns.

Last Sunday, someone from the congregation gave the band a pair of cymbals to add to their instruments, and a new decorated baton. They perform at many church celebrations and other social functions. I will miss their music when I return to Arizona.

School's back in session--almost...

2011-01-23T10:10:00.000-08:00

"Tiz, tiz," exclaimed my British neighbor one day recently when I was complaining mildly of losing my whole morning because I went to a "short meeting" scheduled for 9 am that ended up starting at 10 and lasting till 12:30. "Tiz?" I asked. "Yes, tiz, 'This Is Zambia' you see." I did. (Although to be honest, I have had this same meeting issue from time to time in Arizona. It seems to be a universal occurrence.)

What is different in Zambia is the casual attitude toward advance planning and time management. When our MEF students left in December, they were told to report to campus on January 10th to settle into dormitory rooms, pay their fees, and be ready for classes to start on the 17th. I went to work on my course outlines, developing a schedule that started with the week of January 17. (I couldn't be more specific on the dates topics would be covered than "the week of..." since I did not yet know what days of the week each of my classes fell upon.)

Usually the Social Work and Community Development lecturers would have met with our director and agreed on the meeting times and room assignments for our classes in a big meeting at the end of the previous semester. For some reason, that had not happened, and people left for the holiday break. Then the director's wife's illness kept him away until the 14th of January, the last working day before classes were due to begin. But we did meet then and had a plan by the end of the day Friday. We posted it on the bulletin boards for students to see.

Monday January 17th dawned. After chapel I went to the room where my first class was assigned to meet, and found a workshop meeting there. This has happened before, because the Zambezi Room is the most well-equipped classroom with padded chairs, enough tables and both a blackboard and a whiteboard. MEF is a popular venue for workshops, varying in length from one day to two weeks or more. As I was going to find out what other room my class could use, I was met by students telling me they couldn't start classes because the installment plan had been changed and they didn't bring enough of their tuition and had no way to get more. I decided that school would not be starting on Monday the 10th.

Other instructors drew the same conclusion and suggested that we wait until the 17th to begin, foreseeing that there would be a lot of students with tuition issues and that administration would have to see how to modify the policy to meet their needs and student realities. Our loan fund was quickly exhausted, and there is no work-study or other loan possibilities here.

I did go to my assigned rooms at the designated times this week, just in case students appeared, and some did. We used our time together to share information about our holidays and to discuss the challenges of finding funding for tuition and accommodation costs. Many of the students had done some "piece work" during the break or had helped in family farms or businesses. Part of the reason it is so difficult to have the full tuition in January, they told me, is that school fees are due for their younger brothers and sisters in January, and their families are faced with a huge demand, all at one time. (Average family size in Zambia is 7 children.) Many of our students in the social work diploma program (equivalent to community college) are the oldest in their family. Some of them live in smaller families, but then they are usually caring for or supporting orphaned children.

Meanwhile, all the young children from around MEF and nearby who come to visit me for sandwiches and to borrow games and books have started back to school, so I only see them in the afternoons and weekends now. The two orphans in this group who passed their 7th grade exams and were faced with huge school fees as they entered secondary education are settled. One found a sponsor through another missionary and I sponsored one. The government provided her school uniform and shoes, but she had to find a sponsor for her tuition. Her sister had to stop schooling at grade 9 for lack of resources. She brings me her homework to look over. I encourage her to read and ask questions.

Back at the Social Work diploma program at MEF, our courses will finally start tomorrow, January 24, for sure. Tiz!.

Reflections from South Africa

2011-01-19T09:01:00.000-08:00

At the end of Cathy's visit, we spent three days in Johannesburg. Although our time was brief and what we saw was limited, I thought I'd comment both on the contrast with Zambia and the U.S., and also on Nelson Mandela.

Being in Johannesburg was almost like being back in the U.S.--freeways, traffic, tall buildings, stores full of familiar products not available in Zambia, a more diverse mix of people. We didn't stand out as much. Everything was far more expensive than in Zambia.

One interesting contrast between what we saw in South Africa and what I experience in Zambia had to do with garbage. When we were touring Soweto, our local guide took us to all parts of the community, including a shanty-town with rickety tin-roofed shacks like in our compounds near Kitwe. However, we noticed there the city was providing both toilet facilities and garbage collection to this settlement. Here in Zambia, garbage is strewn everywhere. If there is enough room in your yard, you dig a pit and throw in your trash until it is full, bury it, and plant something on top. Otherwise, you just leave it on communal trash piles which dot the area.

We packed a lot into our few days there. High points included a full-day tour of Soweto and visits to the Apartheid Museum and Constitution Hill. I have continued to reflect on three things from the visit: the South African Constitution, lessons from the transition period, and of course, Nelson Mandela.

The Constitution of South Africa contains all the pronouncements and commitments needed to create an ideal society, respectful of the needs and conditions of all its people. Of course, the reality of life there is far from the potential and the promise of the constitution, but I was impressed with the democratic and humanistic tone of the document. There is a monument to the constitution in Freedom Square in Soweto, and the text of the constitution is inscribed on the doors to the beautiful Constitution Court building. Core declarations like constitutions, bills of rights, and covenants such as the UN Convention on Human Rights put into words all that we aspire toward, our ideals. In the real world, these documents are like beacons of light to guide us, standards against which we can judge our progress. I liked the simplicity and inclusiveness of the South African Constitution.

I never expected to see the end of apartheid in my lifetime. It seemed so deeply entrenched in the society of South Africa that it would endure, evil as it was, for many years into the future. And yet it changed after nonviolent and violent resistance, persistent confrontation, and mobilization of global pressure for change. I recall Alan Paton's fear that when the oppression of the black population stopped and they had power, they would do to the whites what had been done to them. And yet this massive revenge has not materialized. Instead, a Truth and Reconciliation Commission gave some people a chance to tell their stories and be heard, some a chance to learn what had happened to their loved ones in the struggle, some a chance to accept responsibility for their actions, some a possibility to extend forgiveness. It was a powerful healing process invented to facilitate a transition from one social structure to another. It can be criticized for its limitations and difficulties, but it represents a creative example of public conflict transformation and peace building.

Finally, it was inspiring to see various monuments and displays related to the life and message of Nelson Mandela. One of the aspects that most impressed me was how he was not overcome by the punitive treatment he endured, but found ways to use struggles as opportunities for learning and growth. There was commentary that when Nelson Mandela arrived at Robben Island, he was volatile and headstrong. When he left, he had developed self-discipline and an interior sense of calm. He had studied his jailers to learn their language, their worldview, what motivated them, their values. This would allow him to find a basis for dialogue and negotiation. He was guided by a vision of an inclusive democracy and supported by many friends in the journey. What an example he provides of the resilience of the human spirit!

Now I'm back in Zambia, with a new semester about to begin, happy to be with friends and students again. Life is quieter and poorer in Kitwe than Johannesburg, but it feels like home.

Tucson Troubles

2011-01-12T11:37:00.000-08:00

My response to the news this past weekend confirmed a bit of acquired wisdom: While we each must grieve alone, in times of sorrow there is comfort in mourning together with others who share a connection to the loss.

It has been hard to be so far away this week, wanting to be in Arizona. I tried to write a blog about Zambia, but my heart was back home. So my reflection will be on the tragic events of January 8 in Tucson.

I am living now in a country where I have seen much bad driving but no "road rage"; much frustration, but little shouting or swearing; and I have heard of no gun violence in the news or around the poor neighborhoods here in Kitwe. It must exist, but it is rare. Then I wonder, why do so many in America so often resort to violence to solve problems? Here where different tribes and language groups seem to coexist fairly peaceably, why do we in America have such divisive thinking and speaking? Zambia is no paradise, and there are many ways that America is more accepting of certain kinds of diversity. But in the areas of violence and dichotomous (we/they) thinking, America exhibits far more negativity than Zambia.

Along with the community, I am praying for Gabby's recovery and wondering what impairment she will suffer. She and Andy served together in the Arizona State Legislature. She was a classmate of Cathy in high school, and Cathy has carried significant roles in her campaigns. Gabby has worked hard to listen to the people she serves and to represent them well. She has earned the respect and affection of our community.

I am deeply saddened by the six deaths. The one that touched me most was her aide, Gabe Zimmerman. I taught Gabe at the School of Social Work and helped arrange his field placement at Gabby's office, which later led to his being offered a position there. Gabe was one of the brightest and kindest men I have known. He reminded me a lot of some of Andy's qualities and gifts. What a great loss to his family, friends, and the community!

My heart goes out to the parents of the shooter. We are quick to condemn the family of offenders. They must be suffering and possibly even blaming themselves for not having prevented their son's rampage. I hope they are receiving some support and care.

A friend sent me the comments of a scholar who maintains a blog on Beliefnet. Her essay captured my thoughts well. Here is a small excerpt:

"Right now, we need some sustained spiritual reflection on how badly we have behaved in recent years as Americans--how much we've allowed fear to motivate our politics, how cruel we've allowed our discourse to become, how little we've listened, how much we've dehumanized public servants, how much we hate." (Diana Butler Bass)

May we find a way to use this terrible assault to open up dialogue and reflection on how to rebuild a community of compassion and mutual respect.

Customs and Controversy

2011-01-04T19:24:00.000-08:00

We Muzungus (white people) are accustomed to standing out in a crowd and sometimes attracting comments as we walk in the market or the bus station. But mostly these are stares of curiosity or attempts to get our attention so we will purchase something. Today was different. Clearly we were causing a commotion by our behavior. I soon realized it was the baby.

My daughter Cathy and her three children were with me in the open market. El'ad is 7 and Noa 4 years old. They were walking beside us. Cathy carried a heavy backpack. The baby, Matan, 7 months old, was in my arms, held in front of me, facing forward. This was causing distress among the Zambian women. Finally, one came up to me and turned the baby so he was facing me. She also pointed to all the Zambian babies being carried on their mothers' backs, tied on by a chitenga (colorful traditional multi-purpose cloth used as a baby sling, a sarong-style skirt, or a cloth to spread on the ground and sit on.)

A few days later, Cathy was in the market again, in the company of a Zambian friend, Violet. This time, she had Matan in a sling, but positioned so he was in front of her. Violet spoke Bemba and understood the comments being made by the women and comprehended their distress. She took a chitenga out of her bag and used it to tie the baby on her back. This satisfied the market sellers, and Cathy and Violet proceeded in peace.

When we went to Livingstone to visit Victoria Falls and a game park, we had the same driver for several days. After observing us with the baby, he told the following story: There are two kinds of rhinos in Zambia, he said, the white rhino and the black rhino. Both are fairly rare. Both form families. In these family groups, the adult white rhino walks behind its young, while the black rhino adult walks in front of its young. The white rhino is vigilant, protecting them from attack from behind and seeing what problem or opportunity might be ahead for the little ones. The black rhino, on the other hand, goes ahead of its young, watching for danger in front of them and keeping them close behind for safety and security. Interesting to consider differences in world view about how to accomplish the same goal in different settings....

We had a conversation a few days earlier with three African friends we had invited to share lunch with us. They commented on the way that we would listen to the children and converse with them when we were together. They didn't think this was typical of families here. Children are largely left to themselves. Expecting children to be seen but not heard carries over into education, as well. Schools in Zambia have huge classes (often 45-50, or more, with one teacher) and no individual textbooks, so students learn by memorization. Children are seldom asked for their ideas or opinions. The guests were speculating that this difference in child rearing and schooling had an impact on development.

Cathy has been practicing putting Matan on her back with a chitenga. He finds it soothing, and when he is comfortably settled she can work or shop with both hands free. There is a soft fabric carrier in America that fastens the baby in front to accomplish the same goal, but the baby faces out--and here that would not be familiar, or acceptable. When in Rome, as the saying goes, do as the Romans do. And it works!

A Quiet, Simple Christmas

2010-12-26T18:23:00.000-08:00

Christmas in Zambia was a refreshing experience, different in many respects from what I am accustomed to.

Imagine this: The Christmas season in Zambia is one week long, and it is almost exclusively a religious festival. There are no reminders broadcast on radio or TV about how many shopping days till Christmas. Santa is unknown, and gift-giving is not a part of most people's celebrations. I heard a medley of Christmas songs only once, during the week before Christmas, in Shoprite, Kitwe's main supermarket. We didn't sing carols, even in church, until Christmas Eve.

Yes, I missed some of the special music and pageantry presented at Christmastime at home, but I didn't miss the materialistic aspect at all. Nor did I miss the hectic pace and stress that sometimes characterizes the holiday season in America. Here life slowed down as our campus closed for a two week break from December 20-January 3.

All the holiday activity took place at church. There was a service each day during Christmas week. These took place in the late afternoon and were filled with joyful congregational singing, choral offerings, and a message about some aspect of Jesus or his life. Christmas Eve the service started later and included candle lighting. On Christmas morning there was a joint service with the English and Bemba-speaking congregations praising together. That service started at 9 am and lasted past noon, ending with communion.

The Mindolo UCZ congregation has several different choirs, and each had prepared special music for the season. The Praise Team is an energetic youth choral group with keyboard accompaniment. They sometimes dance while singing. The Jerusalem Choir sings a cappella, or accompanied by drumming. They wear purple robes and sing parts. Their repertoire ranges from traditional choruses to complex cantatas. The Women's Fellowship has its own choir, as does the Men's Fellowship and the theology students. I sometimes wonder if Zambians are born singing--all of them seem to have strong voices and the ability to pick up a melody after hearing it once. No choir uses sheet music.

After church on Christmas Day, most people went home to a big family dinner. Sharing food and visiting with friends and family seem to be universal features of holiday celebrations around the world. We joined with another Mindolo family for our Christmas dinner.

It was a simple, quiet Christmas made special by the services, the music, and above all by the presence of my daughter and grandchildren with me in Zambia.

Our hope for the new year is that there should be more peace and more love within ourselves and out in the world. May we make this wish a reality by our actions and reactions throughout the coming year!

Family Fun

2010-12-19T17:08:00.001-08:00

My daughter Cathy and grandchildren El'ad (age 7), Noa (age 4) and Matan (7 months) arrived this week to spend the Christmas holiday here in Zambia. Thank heavens for Frequent Flyer miles!

We will take a couple of trips while they are here. Just after Christmas, we will visit Victoria Falls and the nearby national park to see monkeys, zebras, giraffes, a white rhino, buffalo, alligators, impala, baboons, and a variety of interesting birds. Cruising the Zambezi River, we will see elephants cross from Zimbabwe to Zambia in the late afternoon. We may take a couple of short trips to interesting sites near Kitwe, and we will spend a few days together in Johannesburg at the end of their trip. Our main activity, however, will be to experience family time at Mindolo.

The local children have been on school break since early November, with little to do. I suggested that Cathy bring along books, sports balls, art supplies, and Legos in great quantity. Except for the Legos, everything else was familiar play material, and welcome. El'ad demonstrated Lego construction, and the kids immediately began to build a variety of structures. What was interesting was the collaborative efforts the Zambian children initiated. They would decide what they were trying to create, and then several would help make it. They built an accurate model of the duplex I live in, complete with doors that opened and closed. They have also built airplanes and various vehicles, as well as a whole city.

In addition to Lego construction activities, art projects, and outdoor games, the local children love to take Matan for walks in his stroller or in their arms or on their backs. They ask if we will let him sit with them while they draw or build on the porch. They talk to him and entertain him with funny faces, songs, and other interactions. He loves it!

The local language is Bemba, and the children are accustomed to speaking Bemba among themselves. Language does not appear to present a barrier to cooperative play, as they find ways to communicate with El'ad and Noa in a mix of English, gestures, and demonstration. So far, most of the heavy rain has fallen at night, so there are many opportunities each day for outdoor universal children's games like hide and seek.

I've been enjoying reading and telling stories with Noa and El'ad, baking cookies together, and playing games like Sorry and Concentration. We have visited the market and acted out dramas. I have gotten to know Matan, who was born while I was here in Zambia.

If only all my children and grandchildren could visit, I would be the happiest grandmother in the world!

Family Fun

2010-12-19T17:08:00.000-08:00

My daughter Cathy and grandchildren El'ad (age 7), Noa (age 4) and Matan (7 months) arrived this week to spend the Christmas holiday here in Zambia. Thank heavens for Frequent Flyer miles!

We will take a couple of trips while they are here. Just after Christmas, we will visit Victoria Falls and the nearby national park to see monkeys, zebras, giraffes, a white rhino, buffalo, alligators, impala, baboons, and a variety of interesting birds. Cruising the Zambezi River, we will see elephants cross from Zimbabwe to Zambia in the late afternoon. We may take a couple of short trips to interesting sites near Kitwe, and we will spend a few days together in Johannesburg at the end of their trip. Our main activity, however, will be to experience family time at Mindolo.

The local children have been on school break since early November, with little to do. I suggested that Cathy bring along books, sports balls, art supplies, and Legos in great quantity. Except for the Legos, everything else was familiar play material, and welcome. El'ad demonstrated Lego construction, and the kids immediately began to build a variety of structures. What was interesting was the collaborative efforts the Zambian children initiated. They would decide what they were trying to create, and then several would help make it.
They built an accurate model of the duplex I live in, complete with doors that opened and closed. They have also built airplanes and various vehicles, as well as a whole city.

In addition to Lego construction activities, art projects, and outdoor games, the local children love to take Matan for walks in his stroller or in their arms or on their backs. They ask if we will let him sit with them while they draw or build on the porch. They talk to him and entertain him with funny faces, songs, and other interactions. He loves it!

The local language is Bemba, and the children are accustomed to speaking Bemba among themselves. Language does not appear to present a barrier to cooperative play, as they find ways to communicate with El'ad and Noa in a mix of English, gestures, and demonstration. So far, most of the heavy rain has fallen at night, so there are many opportunities each day for outdoor universal children's games like hide and seek.

I've been enjoying reading and telling stories with Noa and El'ad, baking cookies together, and playing games like Sorry and Concentration. We have visited the market and acted out dramas. I have gotten to know Matan, who was born while I was here in Zambia.

If only all my children and grandchildren could visit, I would be the happiest grandmother in the world!

Wings, Legs, and More

2010-12-11T12:13:00.000-08:00

Every season in Zambia seems to open a new episode of the long-running drama "Living with Bugs." We have just endured the Attack of the Swarming Termites. This followed the Invasion of the Tiny Ants. I am told that I will yearn for the return of the tiny ants when we reach the March of the Fire Ants. They pinch! The Annoyance of the Seasonal Pesky House Flies includes their performance preference for buzzing and dive-bombing around my hair.

Some episodes, like those just mentioned, have a limited time period or life cycle. Others are long-running plays. The Parade of the Medium Black Ants takes place only in the bathroom, around the tub and sink, but it has been continuous since my arrival. Other long-running acts include the High-Jumping Antics of the Grasshoppers/Mantises/and other Long-legged Skinny Green Insects, the Flight of the Giant Beetles, and the Occasional Surprise Appearance of the Spider As Big As My Hand, a horror act if I ever saw one.

It is not only the house where the drama occurs. The eggplant patch in the garden was the scene of the Battle of the Red Spiders v. Moses. The spiders won the first round, but Moses and some secret special spray look to be holding the spiders down for the count at the moment. We welcome the Dance of the Singing Bees and Wasps around the outdoor plants.

When the flying termites swarmed, they covered everything in their path, including us. One neighbor told me she just went to bed under the mosquito net when they appeared in the early evening, and the next morning she swept away the layer of carcasses all over her living room floor. If you leave a light on to attract them and a bowl of water to catch them as they fall, you can take off the wings and fry them for a snack. I chose to bypass this treat.

Zambia does have some beautiful insects, particularly butterflies. There were multitudes of tiny yellow ones for the first few months after I arrived, as well as every other color and size imaginable.

I do my best to appreciate and respect insects as valuable part of God's creation, although it is sometimes hard not to find them annoying. But then I remember the comment of Corrie Ten Boom (in her book The Hiding Place) about the fleas that infested one of the concentration camp dormitories in which she and her sister were held. She initially complained about the hated fleas. Then she noticed that the officers seldom came into that particular dorm, apparently to avoid bites. The prisoners became free to hold meetings and activities there without interference. Eventually she was thankful for fleas. So I guess I can be thankful for the interesting array of critters and creepy-crawlies encountered here in Zambia.

World AIDS Day

2010-12-05T07:35:00.000-08:00

December 1 was "World AIDS Day". Here at MEF, we observed it with a morning educational workshop on HIV followed by free testing and counseling offered by a community agency and Sister Margaret, the nurse in our clinic. Later in the day, some of the high school students who are participants in projects sponsored by MEF practiced dances, drumming, drama and poetry they had developed. They commemorated the day on Saturday in a youth-oriented event.

One in seven Zambian adults is HIV+, with the highest rates in urban areas. Life expectancy has declined to 39 years. Out of a population of under 12 million, there are at least 700,000 AIDS orphans. The epidemic has created labor shortages in many sectors, including education.

HIV/AIDS is manifested differently in sub-Saharan Africa than in other parts of the world. Here, 60% of the people living with HIV infections are women. Young women, between the ages of 15-24, have a rate four times higher than young men of the same age here in Zambia. Several factors seem to account for this. First, there is little comprehensive sex education, and misinformation about HIV abounds. There is a tendency for teenage girls to begin sexual activity at a young age, and with much older men. Gender violence is common, both within and outside marriage. Women are socialized to believe that they should never say no to their husbands or partners, or ever demand the use of a condom. A cultural norm of men having multiple sexual partners, even after marriage, contributes to the spread of HIV infections among women.

The HIV infection rate within Zambia's prisons is nearly 30%. Official rules state that sexual activity between inmates is prohibited, so condoms are not allowed, despite efforts of various groups to advocate for a change in this policy. When ex-offenders return home, they may spread the infection to their wives and girlfriends.

Even though churches have begun to participate in HIV/AIDS education and many have even encouraged condom use, there is still a high degree of moral judgment and stigma evident. Family members are said to have died from malaria or TB or other conditions, without acknowledging, even to themselves, that HIV/AIDS was the underlying cause. I was surprised to hear so little mention of anyone caring for an infected friend or relative. With over 200 students and probably 40 staff (including security, kitchen, housekeeping, and special projects plus lecturers and administration), there is no support group on campus for those living with HIV. MEF does have an AIDS policy assuring that there will be no discrimination and giving medical leave for treatment.

Zambia has made a commitment to the Millennium Development Goal related to combating HIV/AIDS. How close the country will come to its aspirations is the issue. Prevention and treatment efforts here have been hampered by the inadequate health care system and corruption within the Ministry of Health. Antiretroviral treatment is available to less than 2/3 of those who need it.

Where do we go from here? The medical community, social workers, and the church could mount a strong, visible campaign to get people to talk about HIV/AIDS without shame or judgment. I'm planning to engage in some low-key informal activities at MEF that might lead toward the formation of a support group if there is interest and willingness among the students and staff. Any other suggestions?

Re-Use, Recycle, Renew

2010-11-28T16:56:00.000-08:00

I see the most amazing array of American tee-shirt messages on the streets and around campus every day: names of universities, large and small; mottoes of campaigns, recent or ancient; souvenirs of long-forgotten festivals or conferences; logos and mascots of sports teams; commercial ads for products not sold here. The used clothing market is huge in Zambia. I suspect that items that are not sold in thrift shops or church rummage sales in America somehow are shipped to various Third World countries, and so I encounter the tee-shirt messages from home.

BBC just ran a program about a controversy connected to second-hand clothing in Kenya. Officials there were proposing to enforce a law already on the books prohibiting the sale of used underwear. However, the customers who were interviewed by the reporter said the price was right and they wanted to be able to continue buying used lingerie. And the sellers, too, thought the market demand justified continuing to allow such items.

My friend Margaret, one of the Pan African students completing her course in Peace Building and Conflict Transformation, will graduate on Friday. She invited me to worship today at the church she has been attending. They were giving the students a farewell party and urged them to bring a friend to the celebration. I noticed that their well-worn hymnals were from the U.S., and the copyright date was 1975. Discards from a church some years back when they purchased new ones, sent for recycling here. Many congregations in Zambia have no hymnals or songbooks at all, which limits their singing to a few classic hymns, so such recycled hymnals are a blessing.

Zambians engage in internal recycling, as well. When I first arrived, I would flatten plastic bottles before putting them in the trash (which is then thrown into a pit in my yard, burned and buried). One of the MEF workers saw me doing this and told me that people would take all my big plastic bottles if I would leave them intact. I now save them for Moses, Violet, or some of the children who live outside the MEF gate. They use the bottles to carry water from a central source in their compound to their homes for washing and cooking. Bottle caps are recycled into wheels for toy trucks made from cartons. Metal ones, with a hole punched in the middle and strung together, become an anklet that rattles when doing certain traditional dances. All of the organic material such as cut grass, fallen leaves, and household food scraps are composted and used to renew the garden soil.

We see an interesting contradiction to the commendable tendency to recycle any re-usable container. That is the nearly total insensitivity to litter here. People drop candy wrappers, snack packages, small plastic bottles and soda cans along paths, in the market, or out bus windows. True, there are few trash receptacles in most locations, but even where there are such bins, trash abounds on the ground nearby.

Some students have recently initiated a "Keep MEF Clean" campaign on campus. I hope it helps!

Weather Drama

2010-11-21T14:48:00.000-08:00

Just before the storm started, the power went off. Since it was not yet raining, we thought the outage would be brief. How wrong we were!

A community development student, Sheba, had come over Friday late afternoon to bake a cake. We had combined the dry ingredients in one bowl and were about to blend the liquid ingredients and stir the two together when the lights went out. "Well, at least it wasn't in the oven," I remarked. We sat down to wait and see if the power would be restored shortly.

When the storm hit, it was as fierce as any Arizona monsoon, and more. Crackling lightening, booming thunder, sheets of rain, all punctuated by blasts of wind that bent the trees toward the earth. Watching it, we were awed by the magnificence and the power of nature. Next door, Jenny said that Frankie the cat's fur stood on end and his eyes were wild. She held him to calm his pounding heart, but when she got up to get something, he bolted and ran under the bed, from which he has not yet emerged.

Darkness fell as the storm went on and on. It seemed as strong as time went by as when it had begun. We heard explosive cracking sounds that I later recognized as branches--and indeed entire trees--being blown down. Drumming rain on corrugated roofs makes conversation difficult, so we mostly watched. The displays of lightening were magnificent. Sheba asked for a blanket and wrapped herself in it. I lit candles, cleaned up the kitchen, covered the cake-making bowls, and waited.

The storm settled into hard rain, with no sign of letting up. Sheba decided to return to her dorm, equipped with my rain boots, umbrella, and flashlight. We agreed that when the power was restored, probably by early morning, I would put the cake together and bake it so she could take it to the event she was attending on Saturday. I read for a bit and headed for bed.

Saturday morning, there was still no power. When I glanced outside, there were broken branches everywhere Then I stepped out the door and saw the tree that had crashed next to my house, part of it touching my roof but fortunately not damaging it. We go to the market Saturday mornings, so we all piled into Jenny's truck and discovered that it was going to be hard to get into town. MEF workers had cleared the tree that fell and blocked our campus road, but when we turned onto the public road we saw that a fallen tree blocked the access to the main highway. So we went by a circuitous back route known to Jenny, observing broken roofs, trees, and debris all along the way. But there was power in town, so we had hope that our power had been restored.

After shopping, we returned to find the electricity still off. I used my computer until it ran out of battery. Couldn't charge my phone, so it was quiet. My radio runs on solar batteries, so BBC kept me informed and entertained. I began to fear for the food in my refrigerator and its freezer compartment. Lunch was a peanut butter sandwich, dinner a tuna salad. Jenny had a friend in town who offered to put our perishables in her refrigerator and freezer. Hungry students joined my usual kids in asking for PB&J sandwiches and water. Fortunately, I had just purchased my week's supply of sandwich ingredients and had lots of boiled water on hand. When the power is off, we lose water, too. The MEF pump stops working.

The student dining hall prepared dinner over charcoal as we continued without power. We saw the electric company trucks working, but apparently there were several lines down and transformers hit by lightening. Sunday we got up and found still no power. Walking to church I saw how most of the fallen trees had been cut into chunks appropriate for the bonfires people build at the funeral house after a death.

Well, power was restored after 47 hours. People who experience tornados or hurricanes are doubtless used to such extended outages and worse, but it was an unusual experience for me. The storm was dramatic, the destruction saddening, and the inconvenience a reminder of how dependent we are on technology.

We put the cake together and baked it this evening. It was delicious!

Seasons and Changes

2010-11-14T13:00:00.000-08:00

When the rains finally came last week, the children danced, whooping and leaping and welcoming the end of the dry season. Already the grass is green and growing, and Moses, who tends my garden, is looking for his slasher. The graceful white egrets have returned. They are playing in my yard and nesting in the tree by the dam. And the frogs serenade us nightly.

Now, instead of dust, we have mud. Our houses will be sprayed against mosquitoes and the ants, I am glad to say, seem to have gone underground. The termites have swarmed and disappeared.

Our MEF social work students are completing their research projects and preparing for final exams. The lecturers are busy grading papers, composing examinations, and calculating grades. It is near the end of the semester everywhere here in Zambia. During the church service, all the 7th and 9th grade pupils, nearly a hundred of them, were called forward to be prayed for as they entered their national exam period. Zambian schools are modeled on the British system. Students must pass these exams to go on for secondary education. So it is a time of intense preparation all around.

It is also a time of transition on campus. Some of the Pan African students who have been in the Peace Building and Conflict Transformation Program are graduating December 3, and we will really miss them. Our Chaplain's term of service is over in December, and he is debating whether to renew after returning to the United Kingdom to spend some time home with family. The Interim Director of Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation, William Temu, will arrive in December from Tanzania and will stay for a year. All these changes leave us with some unsettled feelings as we celebrate, bid goodbye, and welcome the new.

About now, back home I would be starting to plan our extended family's big Thanksgiving dinner. That is something I will miss here. I wish all of you a
joyful holiday. Eat some pumpkin pie for me--and don't forget the whipped cream!

Viva YWCA

2010-11-07T21:07:00.000-08:00

The YWCA has been part of my life since 1960, when I joined as a student at Stanford University. The Student YWCA was the heart of the civil rights movement and other peace and justice concerns on the campus, as well as a center for women's leadership development. Over the years, I served on the boards of the Tucson and Phoenix YWCAs, on the National Board, on the Executive Committee of the World YWCA, and worked in various volunteer capacities as a trainer. The YWCA's emphasis on racial justice and human rights helped educate and shape my advocacy and activism.

Here on the MEF campus, there is a vibrant YWCA. One of the key programs is work on gender-based violence. The approach is two-pronged. First, the YWCA offers services to women who are victims of such violence through a shelter and a counseling program. They provide practical and emotional support and advocacy for these women as they leave abusive relationships and begin new lives. They also provide education on issues of gender-based violence for health workers, police, youth, and others. They have engaged in awareness campaigns on radio, TV, and through newspaper articles and stories.

In addition, the YWCA engages in political advocacy to strengthen the legal framework in response to gender-based violence. Without a comprehensive and effective public policy, fully and meaningfully implemented, gender-based violence will continue to be tolerated. And so the YWCA trains its members in effective citizen participation. They work for legislative change and program development to prevent and address this deep-seated and pervasive social evil.

The YWCA has other programs, as well. There is a drop-in center for at-risk youth. There are educational programs on topics such as HIV/AIDS prevention, self-care and caregiving, personal financial management, and widow's rights. The other day, I attended the graduation ceremony for more than 30 women who had completed training courses which would equip them for small income-generating endeavors--designing, cutting, and tailoring clothing, batik, and tie-dye production. It was a joyfully Zambian ceremony, filled with song, dance, and thanksgiving. The speakers and the family and friends recognized the sense of empowerment, mutual support, and hope that were developed in the participants through this program.

The purpose statement of the YWCA of Zambia includes two commitments: to develop the whole person, body, mind and spirit, and to unite and empower women to create a just society. Long may they continue with strength and courage!

A Day of Fasting and Prayer for MEF

2010-10-31T06:13:00.000-07:00

These are hot, dry days in Zambia, made beautiful by the bright red, purple, magenta and yellow flowering trees--jacaranda, flame trees, and what look to me like magnolias. Rains were supposed to start the last week of October, but we are still waiting. Our water is brownish-orangish colored when it comes out of the tap lately, and we go for longer periods without water. The rains will be welcome, whenever they come.

MEF (Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation), where I am based, is facing severe challenges these days. Ongoing financial struggles, together with changes in leadership, have created a sense of uncertainty and worry. Classes and projects are going forward, but there are questions about the future of this well-respected institution. The chaplain and his student committee decided to sponsor a "day of fasting and prayer" for MEF. It took place yesterday.

Such events are traditional in the African Christian community. My congregation (Mindolo United Church of Zambia) holds all-night prayer vigils quarterly. I haven't attended yet, but I heard the praise singing wafting through my windows as I went to bed on the occasion of the last one, two weeks ago. They particularly pray for healing of members and for the work of the church.

Our MEF day of fasting and prayer started at 6 am and ended at 6 pm. Some of us were there for the full 12 hours (myself included), while others came for half-day segments. Some who could not come fasted and prayed around the edges of their workday or other obligations.

In the chapel, we sang. We prayed. We had Bible study. We prayed. We danced. We prayed. We joined in guided meditation. We prayed. We listened to reflections and testimonies. We prayed. People stood, knelt, or sat according to their preference and the type of prayer.

Our prayers took different forms. Some times of prayer were silent. Some were communal. We offered intercessory prayer for each population at MEF--the governing board, acting director, incoming interim acting director, administrators, support staff, volunteers, lecturers, students, retrenched workers, funding partners and donors. We prayed using Psalms (Ps. 86, for example). We did a body prayer of confession and forgiveness. We had a time of praying aloud. We did a walking prayer, touring the campus and praying in classrooms, the administration building, dormitories, the dining hall, and recreation areas. We prayed individually and in small groups. We illustrated our prayers by creating words and images with art supplies. Between times of prayer we rocked the chapel with our song and dance. Everything in Africa seems to have an element of joy, no matter how serious the event.

A day of prayer and fasting is hard work. We were tired at the end of the day, tired but energized and encouraged. There was a sense of unity of purpose and mutual support.

Perhaps I'll participate in the next all-night prayer vigil at my congregation!

Fun and Games at MEF

2010-10-23T08:18:00.000-07:00

There is an amazing amount of talent on any campus, and Mindolo is no exception. We experienced the creativity of the students Friday afternoon and evening, in the first Inter-Class Festival organized by my Community Intervention class.

When we began the semester, I told my students that Community-Based Intervention Strategies was a practice class. We would certainly learn about community theory, but we would also learn how to bring about constructive change in the community. The students had three assignments besides the final exam. In small groups they were required to engage in a change effort in one of the compounds or shanty towns near Mindolo and report on what they accomplished and what they learned at the end of the semester. Individually they had to write a community analysis paper about the community where they were working (or the one they lived in.) Finally, as a class, they had to initiate a project that would improve the quality of life at MEF.

When they organized themselves for the class project, they decided to bring some new social activities to campus. They had complained last semester that there were seldom any activities on the weekends. They were learning about asset-based community development in the course, so we did an assessment of the community capital we might engage to create campus-wide social life. The students came up with four ideas--and decided to divide themselves into four groups and do all four: Saturday Movie Nights, a debate, sports competitions, and a talent show (Inter-Class Festival).

Despite some challenges, all these activities have happened, or are ongoing. The Saturday night movie sometimes becomes a games night (cards, chess, Scrabble, and board games) when the projector is not working. The sports competition was delayed by lack of equipment, but a request for a grant from the student activity fees has resulted in basketballs, ping-pong paddles and balls, darts, and soccer balls. The debate topic was "Is MEF a Christian Institution?" and created some interesting reflection on what it means to be a Christian, as well as a Christian institution. Finally, the Festival took place yesterday, at the beginning of a holiday weekend.

There were 4 categories of performance: sketches (skits), music, poetry, and dance. In each category, there were at least two or three acts. They included traditional dances from Zambia, a South African miner's dance done in red polka-dot rainboots, a men's dance group, a variety of kinds of poetry and music, and three outstanding skits. The media students presented a skit about Zambia's quest for independence. Education students presented one about AIDS, but my favorite was the social work students' comic tragedy about a marital drama. The husband is mean to his wife, and after verbally abusing her he goes to meet his girlfriend (an all-too-common occurrence here). The wife, desperate to make her husband happy, consults a witch doctor to get a potion to increase his desire for her (also an all-too-common occurrence here!). She goes home, prepares food, and awaits her husband's return. She waits and waits, and finally decides to take a nap. While she is napping, their teenage son comes home hungry. He sees the food set out for his father, into which the potion has been mixed, and he eats a bit, thinking that his father will never notice. The wife awakens when her husband returns, but he sees that someone ate part of the food and refuses it. He storms out, just as the teenage son comes in and sidles up to his mother, cooing, "I love you, Mom! Really!" as he begins to chase her around the kitchen...

The costumes were excellent, especially the traditional dancers and the witch doctor. I wish we could have videotaped it. We had prizes for the participants and cookies for all. We will do a class evaluation next week (what we liked, what we didn't like, and "bright ideas" for the next time we do something like this). So far, we have learned two lessons from our efforts. The first is how important communication is to the success of a project. That is a challenge here, with no email network among students. We post notices and use word-of-mouth, mostly. The other is that there is a lot that can be done with whatever resources already exist in a place, if you look around and expect to find them.

Once I figure out how to post pictures on the blog, I'll attach some from this event. I wonder what next semester's students will want to do in the Community-Based Intervention Strategies class?

Time Patterns

2010-10-16T05:57:00.001-07:00

"Don't you get bored?" one of my students asked me one day. "There isn't much to do around here."

"No," I replied. "I don't have time to be bored." Which is the truth. I seem to use up all the hours of the day in work, visits from students and others, domestic duties, chatting on Skype with my family back home, and an assortment of activities and events that punctuate the week. I brought a Kindle (electronic reader) filled with 49 books I intended to read in my spare time, and I've finished just two in the 8+ months since my arrival.

That got me to thinking where my time goes, and how time is a bit different here in Zambia compared to time in Tucson.

Many things do not start on time. If you are invited to a Kitchen Party that is supposed to start at 1 pm, plan to go at about 3 and you'll find the dancing is just starting. I was walking to the church for a wedding scheduled for 9 am, when the bride's mother passed me going the other direction in a truck with the sound system for the reception. She stopped and advised me to go back home, since the wedding couldn't start without her and she was not yet bathed or dressed for the event. That wedding actually got underway at 10:30! And most of my classes start 15 minutes late, but I keep them an extra 15 minutes so it all works out.

On the other hand, church starts promptly at 8:30 am, and you'd better be there on time if you want a songbook and a good seat. I haven't quite figured out which things are flexible time and which are exact. Some long-distance busses post a schedule which they keep to (more or less, within an hour or so) and others post a schedule but don't leave until the bus is full. You have to ask to learn the usual practice of each bus company--and be willing to be surprised even then. The "wait till the bus is full" policy seems to predominate. With the cost of fuel here, it makes sense.

Back to the question of where my time goes. There are the teaching hours, preparation for classes, and grading papers--that takes half of every day, including weekends most of the time. I use the Internet, the library, and books I brought to prepare handouts for the students, and it takes time to get those printed since there is only one good printer and one copy machine easily available. This term I'm teaching human behavior, community intervention, and social services in developing countries. The last is a course I took over mid-semester when the instructor began her maternity leave. It has been fun, but demanding. The comparable social services and policy course I taught for years was based on the situation in America, and developing countries face some different issues and have different systems. So I'm learning together with the students.

Where else does my time go? I cook for myself daily and offer cooking lessons a few times a week. Cooking everything from scratch takes a bit longer than when you have packaged and frozen things to work with and blenders and mixers and diswashers to help. My cakes and cookies are in high demand, not to mention the peanut butter and jam sandwiches and water or juice drink I provide for kids and other hungry people. For financial reasons, my supply limit is one loaf of bread a day, 3 kilos of peanut butter a week and two huge cans of jam, as well as three bottles of juice concentrate. When it runs out, I offer cookies if I have any, and I always keep jugs of boiled water in the fridge for the kids who play soccer and basketball nearby.

Then there are the regular activities--chapel every morning, Saturday night Movie Nights (or Game Nights when there is no functioning projector), Bible study Thursday evenings and singing on Wednesday nights, Sunday services, and going to the market Saturday mornings. About once a week I invite someone to dinner or have an invitation to dinner.

Finally there is the uniquely African habit of "dropping in" to visit. Nearly every day, several times a day, someone or some group will stop by my home. Sometimes they come with a purpose. Students deliver their papers or ask for clarification of an assignment. At least once a week I have someone, usually a student but not necessarily from Social Work, who comes for informal counseling over a broken relationship or a conflict situation. Of course there are the people who want to tell me their story and who are asking for money to pay school fees or to feed their family or to start a small project. I always listen, at least, even when I cannot help. And then there are the people, especially teenagers/young adults, who just come to sit and ask how my day has been. We usually talk about their school or whatever they are involved in, but sometimes we just sit and eat cookies.

And so goes my week. At one point I thought I would have time on my hands, time to read (I started the project of again reading the entire Bible, but have only made it through Samuel, so far), time to write poetry, time to practice yoga. Walking is my main exercise, and there is plenty of that, and I've created spaces for reflection, meditation and prayer in the early mornings. But time seems to be in short supply, at least extra time, empty time.

And has anyone else noticed that the older we get, the faster time seems to go?

Soccer Feet

2010-10-10T17:37:00.000-07:00

Whenever I have visited Trust Community School or other projects in the poor areas near MEF, I have seen groups of kids, usually boys, playing football (soccer) on dirt lots, most with bare feet. Ow! They are intent on their game, having fun. Sometimes the ball is a genuine soccer ball. Other times it is a makeshift or homemade ball. Always it is well-worn. Spectators cheer.

Yesterday I went with Jenny, a mission partner from the United Kingdom, to see a football match. The team we were to watch was young boys from a shanty town where she has been working with a local self-help group on nutrition and income-generating projects. The game was part of an informal regional tournament, with teams from all the area compounds competing on a brown grassy field. (It's the dry season.)

I remember well watching soccer tournaments at Fort Lowell Park and other Tucson fields when Michael, Miles, and Johnnary were on teams. Before we would leave home, we had to find the shin guards, uniform, soccer socks, soccer shoes, water bottles, snacks...it was a production getting ready to go!
So when Jenny and I arrived at the tournament field, many things were familiar. Groups of boys were clustered around coaches. Red, blue, green, black, white, and striped shirts distinguished one group from another, mixed in with kids wearing the usual variety of thrift-store leftovers from America that find their way to used clothing stalls in Africa.

Right away, however, I noticed the differences. All the teams had matching shirts, but not necessarily matching shorts. Shoes were another matter. A team would come off the field after their game, and immediately the boys with shoes would sit down, take them off, and pass their shoes and socks to some other boys about to play in the next game. A few pairs were real soccer shoes, the others were athletic shoes of some sort. I never saw a shin guard, let alone many soccer socks. And a number of boys played barefoot. Here and there a team had one or two bottles of water to be shared among the players, but I saw no sign of snacks.

How had they gotten to the tournament? A few teams had a coach with a pickup truck, one team had rented a minibus, but most of them walked many kilometers in the hot sun to arrive at the tournament site. And would walk back afterwards.

Jenny's long-range vision is to help her compound's self-help group to create a community park where the kids can have a sports field, playground equipment, and an activity center with a children's library. There are many kids not in school, and even those enrolled attend only half-days because overcrowding necessitates double shifts at most schools. A playground would give a location for healthy activities and could become a center for community gatherings and literacy education. And a place for soccer practice, of course.

The main reason we had gone to see this tournament was to take photos of the teams from Jenny's compound. A group in Scotland had sent money for six pair of soccer shoes. They were being used for the first time this week. And they brought good luck--the teams tied or won their games.

Ole, Ole, Ole!!!

Dreams Deferred?

2010-10-03T07:53:00.000-07:00

We are all interconnected. What happens in one part of the global community affects another part, until it ultimately comes down to the local area. When the world is in an economic downturn, institutions that depend on charitable contributions and donor grants receive less. Sometimes, much less. The needs do not decrease, just the resources.

We are seeing this interdependence in a painful way at Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation these days. Money is short. Services are being cut back, employees are facing layoffs and retrenchment, and student fees are increasing. MEF runs programs such as Peace and Conflict Transformation Studies through grants. The diploma programs in social work, education (primary school teacher training), and media studies increasingly depend exclusively on tuition and other student fees.

Of course, the students and their families do not have more resources than they did last year. Substantial increases in tuition and accommodation fees hit them hard. Some are contemplating leaving the program half-way through as deadlines for paying delinquent accounts approach and the Kwachas to pay are not there. Families are struggling to come up with whatever they can pay, students are working part-time if they can find work, and every means of economizing is being tried. (I am sure this is a familiar story to many of my American readers, too!)

There is no easy solution to the difficulties faced by the institution or by the students. In the U.S., student loans have become a lifeline for many attending college--although I worry about the debt load some students carry into their careers, especially for lower paid professionals like clergy and social workers. But here in Zambia, there are no student loan funds, either at banks or through educational institutions. And the institution has no easy access to resources, either. It depends on the tuition to pay its bills. Electricity charges in Zambia have just increased dramatically, and an educational institution uses a lot of electricity. Food prices have been increasing, as well. Nothing at MEF is luxurious. There is no “fat” to cut.

I can see the dilemma from both sides. As I sit with a distraught student worried about being evicted from the dormitory, I see the institution struggling to pay its employees. So many elements conspire to create this reality: some inadequate financial planning and management skills on the part of MEF, the students, and their families; loss of donor funding and investment income due to the world economy; absence of a system of support for higher education in Zambia; the high incidence of orphans because of HIV/AIDS and the demands this places on family resources; Zambia’s 40% unemployment rate and abysmal wages.

MEF has a dream of educating leaders for the needs of Africa. These students have a dream of improving themselves and becoming productive social workers, teachers, journalists.

And I think about the powerful Langston Hughes poem that starts with the lines: “What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?” and ends with “Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?”

Hard times, hard questions, but hope that a way through will be found and the dreams will not have to be deferred.

Hair!

2010-09-26T06:20:00.000-07:00

One of the challenges I occasionally face here in Zambia is recognizing my students and calling them by the correct name when some of them change appearance so dramatically from one day to the next. And it is mostly the hair that changes.

There are an amazing number of ways an African woman can arrange her hair. She can leave it natural and close to the head, or comb it into an Afro or an Afro puff (where the hair is pulled back and secured with an elastic, then puffed out from the elastic.) There are multitudes of braided styles. I have seen cornrows with and without beads on the ends. Sometimes braiding involves much more intricate designs than simple rows. Although "hair saloons" abound, offering braiding and other hair styling, braiding is often done by friends or family. Once, when I was younger and had longer hair, an African woman asked if she could try to braid my hair. Taking a small section, she began the process, but she soon gave up, complaining that "European hair is just too slippery!"

Braided hair can be augmented by long or short extensions, and these can simply provide longer braids or can be pulled into pony tails or other styles. Dreadlocks are not very popular here, but I see them sometimes. Little girls often have a knotted style, in which the hair is carefully parted in sections to make patterns (triangles, for example) and the hair in each section gathered into a knot with the end tucked under. Sometimes colored elastics or barrettes or beads are used with this style. Adult women may knot their hair, as well.

Perhaps because of the influence of international fashion, quite a few Zambian women use some kind of relaxer or other straightening process on their hair. They then style their hair in a bob or another smooth arrangement. Sometimes they leave the hair wavy, other times straight as a pin. There are also styles in which the hair is slightly relaxed and shaped into many long corkscrew curls. The possibilities seem to be limited only by the imagination. Studying different hair styles has become a favorite part of my people-watching here.

And then there are the wigs. A woman can dramatically change her appearance with a wig, and much of the time I don't even know it is a wig because it looks so natural. Some are full wigs, some just partial wigs integrated into the natural hair.

Occasionally women here wear scarves or elaborate headdresses that entirely cover the hair. Some of the scarf styles are quite fancy, both in the colors and fabrics, and the way the scarves are wrapped and tied. The uniform for the church women's society of the United Church of Zambia includes a white head scarf. The traditional dress of some regions, especially when worn for celebratory occasions, includes coordinated headdresses.

Men in Zambia seem to have only two choices in hair style: natural but short and kept close to the head, or shaved bald. I have seen no dreadlocks or Afros on men here.

As for me, I have been afraid to get my hair cut here, so far. This fear dates from 1993, when I had the worst hair experience in my life in Uganda at a beauty shop that claimed to know how to cut "European hair." The memory is still strong, so I have been letting my hair grow. It is almost--but not quite--long enough for a pony tail or other pulled-back style. But for the moment, it is at that scruffy, in-between stage, so I'm glad you can't see me!

Progress at Trust Community School

2010-09-19T10:03:00.000-07:00

Skits. Poems. Songs. And from the gathered community, ululations and dancing and clapping. Three children were chosen to come forward and be dressed in their new school uniforms and sturdy shoes--with every child to be given his/hers before the end of the day. Piles of composition books, pencils and pens were stacked up for distribution. And the City Councilman was in attendance to congratulate them on finalizing the acquisition of the land for the new school.

On Friday I was an Honored Guest again. The occasion was the celebration at Trust Community School of their gifts and their progress.

You may recall an earlier blog about TCS, written on April 24. TCS is an example of a self-determined, asset-based community development project. It has been strengthened by partnerships and investments by individual and organizational donors. Little ceremonies like this one help the community express their gratitude for support. They also offer opportunities for the children to demonstrate what they are learning to the community and the guests.

Racecourse, where TCS is located, was originally a squatters' settlement populated largely by refugee families from the Congo. Now it has a mix of refugees and Zambians, all living in tiny houses without electricity or indoor plumbing. Many of the families are caring for "ovc", orphans and vulnerable children.

The original school was built by the community in 2005 on land loaned to them by a property owner, who planned to sell it after a few years. Knowing that they needed to work on a more permanent location, representatives of the community began the long and complex process of petitioning the Kitwe City Council for a plot of land for the school. Various fees had to be paid to register the school as a charitable entity, to record documents, and to apply for the plot. Many communities become discouraged by the multitude of requirements and give up. This community, and this school, did not. (What is that saying? Success is made up of 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration!)

They kept their vision strong by starting to plan the buildings they would construct when they had the plot. They had architectural drawings to look at, and the existing school to maintain. So they kept on.

The final fee to acquire the plot of land was paid at the beginning of September, thanks to the generous effort of a couple of individuals in the U.S. who sold some of their belongings on ebay to raise the money. The school uniforms and shoes were a gift from a Zambian Non-Governmental Organization impressed by the work of this school. And so we celebrated.

A parent gave thanks. The parents pledged to continue to work for the resources needed to build the new school on the plot of land they have acquired. Thanks were expressed to the teachers for their efforts, to the children for their attendance, to the donors and the board of directors. Prayers were said. There were tears of joy and a sense of movement.

Much is yet to be done, but for today, we celebrated the progress thus far in this tiny corner of the world with so many hopes and dreams.

School Shoes

2010-09-11T17:25:00.000-07:00

School for first through twelfth grades started back last Monday after a winter break of six weeks. So I was surprised to see several kids hanging around during school hours. I concluded that some of the schools must start on different timetables.

Then one of the boys asked if I could buy him "school shoes." He had not started back because the only footwear he had now were shower shoes (flip-flops), and they were not allowed. He showed me the holes in his old school shoes and explained that a previous missionary had bought them for him. I know that he is an orphan living with his grandmother and other siblings. "If I buy you shoes, you will be able to start going to classes?" I asked, and the answer was "Yes." So he went with us to town today and I bought shoes for him.

Next a seventh-grade girl came by my back door looking sad. I asked her what was wrong. I knew that she had been attending school this week, so I expected her to tell me of an argument with a friend or something similar. She told me that "Madam" (her teacher) would not let her come back to school on Monday unless she came in "school shoes." I looked at her feet. She was wearing decent-looking flats. They were made of plastic, but the style covered her foot and looked fine. She said that the teacher had told her she didn't look respectable when she marched and sang the national anthem wearing those shoes. She asked if I could buy her "school shoes." Again, she is an orphan living with her sister and grandmother.

This request made me mad. What right did the government school have to demand that children wear a certain kind of shoe to school? Okay, flip-flops might be unacceptable for health and safety reasons, but Patricia's shoes would have been fine in the U.S. I told her I would write a note explaining her situation for her current teacher, asking that she be allowed to continue to go in her plastic shoes. (She had indicated that last year's teacher had not complained about her shoes.) She took my message to the school, because there were Saturday "extra classes" being held. She returned with the following note, written by the deputy head: "Please help Patricia buy shoes for here we don't allow plastic shoes. We chase away those who have plastic shoes until they buy school shoes. We can give her the stockings, please just help her with the school shoes."

Education is supposed to be free for grades 1 through 7 in government schools in Zambia, but the system does not work that way. By law, the parent-teacher association has the right to impose fees and require uniforms, and they all do. UNESCO estimated that one in five children of that age in Zambia is not attending school, and I'm sure they are counting community schools as well as private and government schools. The only reason a child would not be in school here is the family's inability to pay the fees or buy the uniform.

"Free" government schools are quite creative in finding ways to charge fees--fees to enroll in school; fees for gym clothes and uniforms; fees for study guides and booklets; fees to take the end of term examinations and fees to get the results officially recorded. And, of course, students must buy their own composition books, pens, rulers, and other school supplies. There are no textbooks, just review booklets. School sessions are short, and children are encouraged to take "extra lessons" (for which they pay the teachers) after school. The teachers are so underpaid that they must offer extra lessons to feed their families. It's a terrible system.

I know that we have serious problems with public education in America, as well. In most school systems, our teachers are underpaid and overworked. Families are expected to help with classroom supplies, and in some systems children share books and cannot take them home (at least in Arizona.)

How many pairs of "school shoes" will I end up buying? And when will we wake up to the consequences of the failure to invest adequately in quality education for our children, in Zambia and in America?

Kwachas

2010-09-04T20:13:00.000-07:00

It takes awhile for a newcomer to figure out the money in Zambia. For one thing, no coins are used, only paper money. Coins once were part of the currency, but inflation has caused their demise. Production of coins stopped when their value became less than the cost of the metal used to produce them. The smallest bill in circulation is now worth only the equivalent of a U. S. penny, so there is no need for anything smaller. Old coins, called ngwee, are sold to tourists as curiosities.

The unit of money in Zambia was the pound under colonial rule when Zambia was Northern Rhodesia. Now it is called the Kwacha. The largest note is 50,000 Kwachas (roughly equivalent to $10) and the smallest is 50 Kwachas (one cent). There are eight colorful bills, each with a different tree on the front and a different animal on the back--50,000, 20,000, 10,000, 5,000, 1,000, 500, 100 and 50 Kwachas. The ATM gives 50,000 and 20,000 bills. A loaf of bread will cost between 4,900 and 5,500 Kwachas, about a dollar. Bus fare from MEF to Kitwe is 2,500 Kwachas (50 cents). Shoes can cost from 20,000 to 100,000 Kwachas, or more, depending on the type. A fast food meal (hamburger and fries) would run 25,000 Kwachas.

One of the MEF program coordinators, Bruce Mubanga, told a good story about money in chapel Friday. He said the Kwachas held a meeting one day. The 50,000 note introduced himself and boasted that he often traveled with tourists and that he was well-known in ShopRite (our major supermarket.) The 20,000 note said he was found at restaurants, bars, and clothing stores and he frequently associated with taxi drivers. The 10,000 note spoke of being used to buy "talk time" for cell phones. The 5,000 note reported that he usually traveled around the stalls in the outdoor market. They all looked expectantly at the smallest bills, and the 1,000 note said he would speak for all of them--the one thousands, five hundreds, one hundreds and fifties, worth one dollar to one cent. "Well," he said, "We have never seen many of those places you have mentioned, but we are quite familiar with the church offering plate."

We collect an offering once a month in chapel to provide assistance for prisoners. This time, after Bruce told the story, the offering included many larger bills and was more than had ever been collected before. Maybe we all need the occasional reminder about our spending priorities!

Cooking Classes

2010-08-29T05:27:00.000-07:00

It all started when Violet, who cleans my house, wondered if I could show her how to fix some of the dishes that Muzungus like to eat. She had been asked to do some cooking for another international volunteer she worked for. And she had tasted some of the food I prepared for lunch when she was here and liked it. So began our Saturday or Sunday afternoon cooking classes.

We began with mostly simple and often traditional dishes--pot roast with potatoes and carrots, homemade spaghetti sauce, chicken breasts with lemon-butter sauce, chili, baked stuffed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, roasted vegetables, lentil soup, shepherd's pie, baked chicken with rice, meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and orange and onion pork chops. We got a little fancier with cauliflower with cheese sauce, ratatouille, and baba ganoush.

Sometimes other Zambians would ask how we prepared vegetables they seldom have tasted. (Greens, tomatoes, and onions seem to be the dominant ingredients in the side dishes that accompany meat and nshima or rice, the typical lunch and dinner staples.) After I demonstrated baba ganoush (eggplant baked until soft, the inside scooped out, seasoned with garlic and mixed with tahini or mayonnaise), Mwiinga invented a version mixed with ground peanuts in place of tahini/mayonnaise. It works!

It is possible to find cauliflower, zucchini, broccoli, bell peppers, purple eggplant, sugar peas, cucumbers and other vegetables in the market--but they are scarce. Sometimes they have been imported from South Africa and are only found in the supermarket. Besides tomatoes, onions, and different greens, Zambians seem to use okra, carrots, potatoes, green beans, cabbage, and a kind of local white eggplant that can be bitter. All of these are available in abundance in the outdoor market, as well as avocados and fruit.

In June, just before final exams, I thought about how I had always brought homemade cookies to my ASU students at exam time and decided to do the same here. I made chocolate chip cookies, having brought the essential brown sugar and chips from home, plus two kinds whose ingredients are readily available here, peanut butter and oatmeal cookies. They were popular, and the cakes I have baked have also been appreciated by all the Zambians who have tasted them. So soon students were asking how to make cookies and cakes. More demonstrations.

Of course, the cooking experiments and classes are becoming more and more a mutual exchange. Margaret from Kenya has taught me how to make chapati, the flat bread that is a bit like tortillas. We make it with whole wheat flour, though, and it is really delicious. I have learned how to stir nshima with a big wooden paddle, and what kind of leaves can be cooked as greens. (Who would have guessed that pumpkin, sweet potato, and even broccoli leaves are delicious?!)

Sharing different cooking traditions, and eating new foods, is a delightful way to interact and learn about each other. Enjoy!

Celebrating Youth Groups

2010-08-22T04:43:00.000-07:00

As a mission volunteer, I have learned to expect—and enjoy—a variety of new experiences. Sometimes we are asked to bring greetings or provide remarks at meetings and events. We might be the “honored guest” at a fundraiser. That usually involves making a contribution, giving a talk, and joining in the dancing and singing. We are given opportunities to judge debates, share brief reflections in chapel, pray publicly, and sit among the VIPs on occasion.

Recently I was invited to offer a “message of encouragement” to members of my Zambian congregation’s Girls’ Brigade group on their annual enrollment Sunday. This would take place during the church service. I attended the English language service at 8:30, then joined the Bemba service at 10:30. Every pew was filled to overflowing, and the church holds at least 400 people.

The Girls’ Brigade was formed in 1964 as an international movement. It united three Christian girls’ organizations that had been founded in Scotland, England and Wales in the late 19th century. It encourages physical, educational, and spiritual development and service. According to their web site, Zambia has the fourth largest membership in Africa. The uniform has a royal blue skirt, white top, and blue cap. Sometimes they have a red sash. Older girls also wear a tie.

As the service began, the Boys’ Brigade brass band played lively music, and the girls entered in a line, moving rhythmically in steps that appeared to be something between a march and a dance. My best guess is that there were between 60 and 70 girls. After the older members took their places on the front benches, the new enrollees came in, each with a lit candle. They sang a song with a refrain “Carry your candle into the darkness, carry your candle to light the world.” Their faces were solemn and I felt the sacredness of the moment.

The service included various prayers and songs, awarding badges and armbands to members of the Boys’ Brigade, recognizing the leadership of the Girls’ Brigade, and finally enrolling the new girls. They recited their motto in unison. Deborah Blood, an American UCC pastor who was here for a month, and I got to help put on ties and caps and congratulate the boys and girls. Since the entire service was in Bemba, I had an interpreter translate my remarks. In between, there was some dancing, a choral offering from the Women’s Christian Fellowship choir and another from the Jerusalem choir, and more music from the brass band. Every now and then someone would break into ululation to express their joy and pride in the children.

It was 2 pm when I made my remarks. Some of the girls danced up the aisle with cakes to thank those of us who had helped in the service, and we wished we could enjoy them on the spot—but the service was not over yet. We still had the offering, Scripture reading, sermon, and benediction to go! As we recessed and headed for home after 3 pm, I heard the Boys Brigade band playing and saw the Girls’ Brigade dancing out in the church yard.

Zambians certainly know how to celebrate and to include the whole community in the event. And despite having spent nearly five hours in a service whose language I don’t understand, I was neither bored nor tired (only hungry). The spirit and the meaning of the day impressed me deeply.

Buckets and Candles

2010-08-14T13:20:00.000-07:00

I never imagined how much I would come to depend on buckets and candles as part of everyday life here in Zambia.

Water is a sometimes thing. I have had no hot water for about a month, because the pressure is too low to fill the water heater. Cold water usually comes on at 5 am and stays on until 8 am, then returns around noon for a couple of hours, and again from 5 pm to 7 or 8. It trickles from the bathroom faucet, runs a little stronger in the kitchen, but apparently my house gets it before Jenny's so she has even less. It is dry season now, so we do not water the grass, only the vegetable garden. Rain comes back in November.

How do we manage? I store water in buckets in the kitchen and bathroom. My bathtub is large and deep, and it is almost always kept full of water. This is because we need a source for filling the buckets for the garden when the outside tap is not running,for doing the laundry, and for filling the toilet tank and the pans of water we heat for washing dishes. I drain all but a few inches on Sunday morning, add many pans of boiling water heated on the stove, and take my weekly "full bath". Otherwise it is "cat baths"--and I wash my hair in the kitchen sink.

At least here at MEF we do have water in our homes. Many Zambians have to get their water from a communal faucet, or a river. The high mineral content (Kitwe is in a copper mining area) makes the water look a little orange, but it seems to be safe for drinking once boiled.

Electricity is more dependable than water, at least for us in MEF. The same is not true for the nearby compounds, where they experience lengthy outages several times a week and virtually every weekend. And, of course, there are parts of Zambia without any electric power at all. At MEF we lose electricity about three or four times a month,sometimes for a short period, but other times for many hours or a full day.

Twice the electricity has gone off about 10 or 15 minutes after I had put a cake in the oven. The first time this happened, I just left the cake alone, didn't change the thermostat or open the oven door. The power was restored 4 hours later, and I then waited until the cake smelled good, opened the oven door, and miraculously it survived. Didn't rise as much as usual, was a bit denser, but tasted good all the same. The second time it was off only half an hour, and that cake was hardly affected. Who would have guessed cake batter would be so resilient?

I will appreciate having more dependable public utilities like electricity and water when I return to the U.S.--and well-paved roads, as well. Here, the roads are so full of ruts, potholes, and eroded shoulders that driving is truly hazardous. Pedestrians are also at risk of falling into holes or tripping over bumpy, rocky roadsides. When it rains it is even worse, of course, as the holes fill with water and are more difficult to see and avoid. Many side roads are not paved at all. Dirt roads become impassible for ordinary vehicles in the rainy season.

It must be a real challenge to decide where to invest public money in a poor country: schools, health care, roads, the electrical system, water, agriculture, public sanitation, technology... Is it better to spend a little on each and have poor quality services in every sector, or concentrate resources in a few areas and totally neglect others?

Respect, Response, Relevance

2010-08-07T04:45:00.000-07:00

Those of us who are veterans of Peace Corps and other long or even short-term international experience know, when choosing to live in another country for a period of time, to expect cultural differences and surprises.

We set forth with the intention to learn about another set of customs and world views, as well as to offer service. We come with an attitude and orientation that is respectful, curious, interested. While we are sometimes confused, we try to be always listening with an open mind and heart--to the best of our ability. We generally find many common values. We often even find some unfamiliar but comfortable practices and customs we would like to import back into our home settings. And we also find some practices and customs that disturb us or become a challenge.

It's easy to underestimate how difficult it can be to be respectful toward cultural values that contradict those we cherish. I've been reflecting on this because it impacts my teaching as well as my daily life here in Zambia.

The other day, Shalom, a social work student, was the morning speaker in chapel. The theme was covenant. She began by using an example to illustrate the concept of covenant. Her example was marriage. Marriage was a covenant, she argued, in which the husband was head and the wife was submissive. As she continued, I found it hard to listen. I wanted to tell her that it was possible to have a partnership marriage. I wanted to explain the benefits of a more egalitarian covenant.

In my human behavior class, we had a lively discussion about corporal punishment of children. Beatings and "canings" are common practice. They are defended as necessary to teach correct behavior at home and to maintain order and respect at school. One student disagreed with her classmates about the efficacy and necessity of severe corporal punishment, but she was clearly in the minority on this issue. In this class I did present theory and research evidence from social learning regarding the relative effectiveness of harsh physical punishment and other forms of discipline. To be fair, I acknowledged that the research was mostly conducted in Anglo European settings, although some recent studies include cultural diversity in the subjects or cross-cultural comparisons. I heard a speaker on a BBC radio program argue that the African child was different and physical discipline was a necessary part of the culture.

Belief in witchcraft and demonic spirits is strong here as a way of explaining misfortune or illness, even among some well-educated people. There was a meeting of the student body to discuss an issue that arose in the dormitory last semester. A student felt she was being "used" by evil spirits and asked some of her friends to come to her room to pray with her. Their prayers were not only fervent, but loud. It was near midnight, and it awakened other students. There is a form of prayer that involves shouting and walking while praying, and it had happened late at night in the dorms before. So the Head of Programs set a policy that while Mindolo encouraged prayer, loud praying could not take place in the dormitories after 10 pm. Students needed to go to the chapel or another location if they wanted to pray this way at night. He further recommended that students who felt possessed should go to their pastors for exorcism.

In the Congo, the UN has reported a serious problem of children accused of witchcraft. Many are driven from their homes, or they run away from the harsh "treatments" imposed on them to rid them of evil spirits. They end up as street children. This is not widespread in Zambia, but my students say it happens here, particularly in remote villages. No one defended such scapegoating, but many seemed comfortable with the concept of external spirits that could harm people. Most felt it was the devil at work causing this trouble.

One part of the course I am teaching is a module on basic counseling, since these students will be expected to work with HIV+ persons and others in need of support. I gave them handouts on active listening and other counseling skills and told them we would practice in class. The next session, one of the students announced that she was confused because some of the material I gave them to read stated that giving advice was not a good counseling technique. She--and indeed, the entire class--thought that giving advice was the primary purpose of counseling. They were shocked when I affirmed that giving advice was not the main role and function of counseling. "But they will come seeking advice," they insisted. I explained the desirability of helping people discover within themselves what they needed to do, and the benefit of clients learning problem-solving skills.

But I was also questioning myself: Is this model I'm teaching a Western cultural construct? Can giving advice be a more appropriate and effective model in this culture? Are there some universal values in social work along with others that are particular to a given culture? Certainly respect for the dignity and worth of every individual seems basic, but perhaps self-determination has different dimensions and expressions in cultures that value family obligations and respect for authority.

And so I struggle... And wonder... And try to listen and learn...

Frankie the Cat and Other Animal Friends

2010-08-01T04:10:00.000-07:00

Frankie the cat is a large Siamese who lives with my neighbor, Jenny. Few Zambians keep pets, although there are dogs and cats that seem to find ways to take care of themselves living outdoors. But Frankie is a house cat, and quite a character. I care for him when Jenny is out of town.

Frankie was rescued a few years ago by the person who lived at that time in the house where I live now. He was a skinny, injured, frightened kitten. He still has a crooked leg as a result of some abuse or accident. But he was nursed to health and loved into good behavior. His personality emerged. It became evident that he saw himself as royalty, and he clearly has a mind of his own. He expects to be fed twice a day. He possesses the capability some dogs also have, of giving a look that suggests that he has not eaten in days and is about to perish from hunger—so sometimes her manages to get three meals a day, two from Jenny and one from me. Once we noticed how fat he was becoming, we coordinated our feeding schedules and he is back to two meals. Still, he purrs as he eats, which is quite a trick, I think.

One evening when I was caring for Frankie, and we were alone in the house, I heard a noise and a splash from the bathroom. Puzzled, I went in, and there was Frankie, shaking water from his fur and looking grumpy. He had fallen into the tub, which nearly always has several inches of cold water in it. (My faucet leaks, and we have times without water, so I keep water in the tub and dip it out for washing dishes or watering the garden.) I knew he sometimes climbed up on the ledge of the tub, but I never thought he would fall in.

A peculiar habit of Frankie’s is the way he gets a drink. He either puts his paws on the rim and dips his head into the big emergency water supply bucket in the kitchen, or he climbs up and laps his drink when water is flowing from the tap while I am brushing my teeth. I’ve never seen him use the water bowl next to his food dish.

Another day, when Frankie misbehaved at home, Jenny scooted him out the door against his will. He gave her an aloof look, and proceeded with great dignity to enter the termite mound next to the house, which had a cave-like opening. I believe he thought he was hiding, but the tip of his tail stuck out so we knew where he was.

The other animal interactions I have are with insects. Zambia has many beautiful butterflies: tiny bright yellow ones, black and white spotted ones, and a multitude of other colors and patterns. I enjoy watching them every day in my garden and on my walks. The ants are another story. I do not know how they detect it, but within moments of spilling something with fat content, hundreds of tiny ants appear. One evening after entertaining guests, I noticed that about a teaspoon of guacamole had fallen on the floor under the table, and an army of ants was surrounding it. I decided to go to bed and clean it up in the morning. No need. The ants had done as good a job as our dog used to do. The floor was clean. They appear within moments of the spill, and hundreds at once. Then they disappear again. I wonder where they live…

It’s been a busy week with new class preparations as the semester just began. The textbooks donated by ASU faculty are being well used, so thanks, again, my friends.

Let Me Off the Bus!

2010-07-24T08:18:00.000-07:00

Zambians tend to be easy-going, soft-spoken, respectful, and friendly. They raise their voices in song and sometimes in worship, but not often in argument. People greet you as you walk. They frequently will stop to chat if they know you. Drivers may speed, but I have seen no evidence of road rage. It's a pretty mellow place. So this experience was exceptional.

I was going to town on an errand and got on a minibus. It had a spiderweb crack in the front windshield, indicating that at some time something or someone had bounced against it, but I didn't notice that detail until later. We started off, and I saw that we were going to go by the back road route, passing by the entrances to several compounds before reaching the heart of town. That was fine with me, as I was in no particular hurry.

After several stops to pick up passengers along the road, the driver made a stop which must have been improper in some way--not far enough from the traffic lane, or in the wrong area--and the police pulled up. They asked the driver to come out. He locked his door, opened his window just a crack, and instructed his "conductor" (the young man who collects fares) to keep his door locked. He then tried to placate the police officer. "Sorry, Boss, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry" he kept saying. Then when the insistent officer walked a slight distance to consult with his partner, the bus driver took off. The police got in their car and followed us.

The other passengers were commenting, but it was in Bemba, so I couldn't understand what they were saying. From the tone, I thought they were on the driver's side in this confrontation. (Sometimes police here are interested in getting a quick payment of a fine on the spot, or possibly a bribe.) So we drove on, at a fairly fast speed. When we stopped to add more passengers, however, the police again stopped. They positioned their police car right in front of the minibus and spoke to the driver again. After a heated discussion, I believe they instructed the driver to turn the bus around and come to the police station.

He did turn the bus around, but then he took off like a shot and sped along the road. As soon as there was a dirt road into the nearest compound, we went barrelling down that road, scattering chickens and people right and left. The bus rocked and jolted and skidded around curves. (These roads were full of people--school children with their backpacks, mothers with babies on their backs, people carrying sacks to the little market stands.) All the passengers were holding on for dear life as we drove through these crowded roads, barely a lane wide, full of ruts and holes and rocks, as well as the pedestrians. We kept turning sharply over and over again at corner after corner, leaving huge clouds of dust behind us. Now the bus passengers appeared to be telling the driver to please slow down, take it easy, as we bounced and shook and were scared that we would crash into something or run down someone. I think we all genuinely feared for our lives.

Finally we saw the main road ahead again and the driver pulled up to it. He looked both ways for signs of the police and didn't see them. He pulled out cautiously and stopped someone to ask if they had seen any police. When the answer was no, he proceeded to continue on quickly into town, making no more stops.

By the time we arrived, we had all caught our breath and calmed our hearts and were just grateful to have survived the trip. I know that one person, at least, had prayed aloud during the ordeal, and the rest of us probably prayed silently.

On my return trip, I found a clean minibus, no cracks in the windshield, with a quiet, polite driver. It had a sticker on the front window in the corner proclaiming that the bus was protected by the blood of Jesus, and I took that as a good sign portending a safe return trip--and it was.

Four bottle caps, a milk carton, and a stick

2010-07-17T12:14:00.000-07:00

There is an old saying that necessity is the mother of invention. Here in Zambia, I have observed that scarcity--and creativity--also lead to invention. This is especially true with kids.

Play is universal, and children everywhere find, are given, or make playthings. What do four bottle caps, a milk carton, and a stick make? A truck, of course! Bottle caps are wheels, the milk carton is the body, and the stick, stuck in the middle of the body, is used to push it along. This is usually a toddler or little boy toy. Sometimes they cut out windows and add bottle cap headlghts to make it look more realistic.

Older boys want wheels that actually roll, so another version of a vehicle is made of coat hanger wire, two or four recycled wheels from an old wagon or a now-defunct plastic truck, and a stick or rod for the axle. If two kids both have vehicles, they will race them, running and pushing the "car" ahead of them.

Two sticks from bushes or trees can be bound together to make the frame for a home-made kite. The string comes from patiently unraveling a burlap maize sack and twisting the pieces of heavy thread together. A plastic bag, opened into a diamond shape, becomes the body of the kite. The windiest month is about to come, and I expect to see kids flying kites all over the grassy field where the education students were practicing traditional dancing all last month.

Of course, such universal pastimes as rolling tires, playing tag and climbing trees is always fun--especially if the tree has guavas in it. The most developed art I have observed, however, is the construction of a ball from discarded plastic bags. This involves stuffing as many crumpled or rolled up bags as possible into one bag, massaging it to make it round. Then it is wrapped in strings gotten from unraveling a burlap bag that maize meal came in. Once the plastic bag is completely covered with string, they take it to a charcoal cooking fire and hold it near the heat to bind it all together. A well made ball will actually bounce.

And what do they do with the ball? Play soccer, of course!

What about girls? Their play seems to imitate their mothers, using empty cans and sticks to play at mixing nshima (corn meal porridge), making dolls from scraps of fabric and carrying them on their backs, modeling dirt/clay figures, and holding tea parties. Girls don't seem to have as much time to play as boys, since they are often helping their mothers with household chores. They can be seen freely and happily singing and dancing whenever there is music.

I have enjoyed getting to know a group of children who come to show me their school work as they enjoy a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or some homemade cookies. It makes me miss my grandchildren less to have some Zambian children in my life.

A Zambian Kitchen Party

2010-07-09T17:51:00.000-07:00

American bridal showers pale by comparison with a Zambian “kitchen party.”

I was invited by a friend here to go to Mufulira for the kitchen party of her niece. We took a bus and a taxi to get there, about an hour away from MEF. Vivienne told me that friends and family form a planning committee a couple of months before the event, to pool their resources and plan the food and other details. The kitchen party is almost as important as the wedding, and I would come to see why.

We arrived early, so that Vivienne and her daughters could help with preparations. Chairs were set up on opposite sides of the yard. The food table was on the third side, closest to the house, and at the far end was a decorated canopy under which the bride-to-be and her spiritual advisors would sit. In the corner next to the canopy there was a huge display of gifts—pots and pans, dishes, tableware, small appliances, a dish cabinet. These were brought in advance by family and close friends. Other wrapped gifts were brought by guests and stacked inside the house. Popular and traditional music came from a cd player. People bustled around cooking, decorating, and greeting each other with ululations.

Soon I noticed that women were going into bedrooms and changing into traditional dress. The bride came from one region and the groom another, so there were two different styles represented by the two families. At the appointed time, I was taken to a front row seat, and the singing and dancing began. The bride’s family’s regional costume was a very full skirt, mid-calf length, with rows of ribbon above the hem. The top was a flowing tunic, also decorated with ribbons, and a shawl or apron around the waist. Many were made in solid colors with contrasting ribbons—red with black ribbons, blue with white, bright yellow with orange—and others were patterned fabrics, still with ribbon trim, earth tones. They danced and sang. Then friends of the bride in floor-length colorful dresses came and danced another style of traditional dance. They had chitenges folded and wrapped around their hips to emphasize the waist and hip movements. The dance represented a request that the family find a husband for the bride so that she could start a home and family.

Then three women drummers came and set up next to the canopy. All through the singing and dancing, there were ululations, and from time to time guests would join in the dancing on the grass. Then there was a hush, and a path of grass mats was placed from the house to the canopy. A long row of dancers emerged, led by the bride’s closest friends and cousins, The next five people in the line—the bride and her advisors—were covered by a cloth as they danced (reminded me of a Chinese dragon dancing), and they were followed by more friends and family in the line. The bride was danced into the canopy, and the grass mats were removed. She remained covered by the shawl, although her advisors emerged from beneath it. Wrapped gifts were carried from the house and placed near the canopy. Attendants brought a few to be opened, and the giver to be recognized—perhaps honored guests, I’m not sure, but the bride is still covered and the gifts are opened by attendants.

Then the groom’s family came dancing in, waving small leafy branches. They gathered at the canopy, singing and accompanying the groom. He approached the bride, knelt, and after some exchange of greetings, he gently removed the shawl and uncovered her face. She looked down demurely. He presented her with a basket of fruits and vegetables, symbolic of the pledge to see that she always had food. He also presented her with a decorated basket filled with household and cleaning items, symbolic of her responsibility to manage the house. Then he led her out of the canopy and she went with him to meet his parents, kneeling before them and greeting them. She then brought him to her family, and he greeted them. The prospective bride and groom then greeted all the guests, and we were invited to eat. Everyone visited with everyone else, and the party went on. The meal was rice, roasted chicken, beef in gravy, coleslaw, potato salad, and a traditional dish made of ground nuts and some sort of root vegetable. We left after eating, in order to get a bus back in good time, but the party went on for at least another hour, I’m sure.
What a wonderful way for two families to celebrate an upcoming wedding, with ceremony, symbolism and joy!

On the Dignity and Value of Work

2010-07-02T11:04:00.001-07:00

The butterflies and bees are playing among my zucchini plants in the garden, which are in full golden-orange bloom. I’ve already harvested carrots and green beans, and by next week I will have spinach and onions. The broccoli, cauliflower, bell peppers, tomatoes, and rape will be coming in after that, and there are herbs, as well.

So when did I develop such a green thumb? I didn’t. It’s all due to Moses. And it has led me to reflect upon the dignity and importance of work.

After settling into my half of the duplex where I live on the MEF campus, I noticed that my neighbor, Jenny, had a worker who came a few hours a week to water and keep her yard neat. My side was quite overgrown, so I figured I should also find someone for a similar arrangement. Jenny told me that after an initial cleanup, about six hours a week would maintain my part of the yard, which was mostly grass, trees and bushes.

The very next day, Moses knocked on my back door, “slasher” in hand, offering to clean up my yard. We negotiated the price, and then he said if I liked his work would I consider keeping him on to maintain the yard. I let him know what I was prepared to pay and how many hours a week he should plan to work and suggested that he could have flexible hours to fit with whatever other work he was doing. He explained that he had been unemployed for some time, just doing “piece work” (day labor) since he had been let go by the mines in a retrenchment.

It took a week of full days to get the yard clean and neat, but I noticed that the next week Moses came in the morning and stayed all day, raking the dirt, chatting with passersby, and preparing a garden bed in one corner. He asked what I would like to plant, noting that he thought there had been sweet potatoes in the past. I reminded him of our agreement, that I was paying for only a few hours a week, and he agreed that he understood. Yet he came every day.

I finally understood that he needed to be working, that it was a source of pride for him to have a job. He guarded my house when I was out, and reported any visitors or children running around. He suggested planting more of the yard in garden beds, pointing out that then I wouldn’t have to buy vegetables in the market. So I gave him money for seeds and chicken manure. He used our compost pile to enrich the soil. He said that he had learned about agriculture in school.

As he prepared the garden, raked leaves, and trimmed the border hedges, people began to comment on what a nice yard I had. Moses glowed.

Unemployment in Zambia is 40%. This is true for all levels of education, so I fear for the future of my social work graduates. The needs are there for human services, for road repair, for environmental cleanup, for health care, for smaller classes and more schools…but the money is not.

Moses and I have come to terms on appropriate compensation, and I have a huge vegetable garden now. I must admit that eating veggies fresh picked is a delight, and soon I will be sharing produce with hungry people who come to my door. And I have a deeper appreciation of the value of work to the human spirit.

Victoria Falls and Livingstone

2010-06-25T11:03:00.000-07:00

This week, I took my first tourist trip in Zambia to see Victoria Falls, a game park, and the town of Livingstone. Another volunteer, Patty, and I went with a Zambian friend, Angelina, and her grandson, Prince.

We boarded the Mazhandu Family Bus at Kitwe Monday morning for the 12-hour trip,including rest stops. A pastor prayed on the bus before our departure, asking for a safe journey. (On the way home, we got a sermon and an invitation to give our lives to Jesus, too!) The bus was comfortable. They even served snacks and drinks, free--more than some airlines today. Unfortunately, they also played Nigerian movies, which are rather like overdramatic soap operas, at high volume for about 6hours of the trip. The rest of the time the driver played beautiful praise music.

Patty and I stayed at a guest house, while Angelina visited with her daughter, who only has one bedroom so couldn't put us up. Having a Zambian friend with us was not only fun, but a great advantage. She knew the area, and she advocated for us--got us into the Falls and museum for the Zambian rate, insisting that we were working in Zambia and thus qualified and should not be considered tourists. This saved us a lot of money. She also negotiated for us at the craft market, so we good great bargains there, too. It was lovely to get to know Angelina's daughter and other grandchildren.

Victoria Falls are an awesome natural wonder--broad sheets of water, eight gorges, surrounded by rain forest full of rare ferns, monkeys, and lush trees and plants. Their original, traditional name (Mosi-oa-Tunya) means "smoke that makes noise," referring to the mist and tremendous spray from the falls. We rented rain capes, since you cannot help getting wet from the spray, especially this time of the year. We saw rainbows in the mist. Spectacular!

We also took a tour of the nearby Mosi-oa-Tunya National Park to see the animals. One edge of the park runs along the Zambezi River which forms the border between Zimbabwe and Zambia. The guide, in telling us that we might not see the elephants, commented that elephants don't understand borders, and they wander between the two countries, generally in Zimbabwe in the day and returning at sunset to Zambia. It would have been fun to watch them swim across the river, but we saw the park in the morning. We did encounter warthogs (kind of ugly and reminded me of javelina), velvet monkeys with big eyes, gentle, deer-like impala, playful chimps and gorillas, majestic buffalo (with birds on their backs, who eat the ticks!), zebras (each one has a distinctive pattern of stripes, and they take dust baths like horses do), giraffes (did you know that the female giraffe has hair on her horns?), storks, eagles, and other birds, crocodiles (even an albino), and finally a white rhino. It was a good visit with a knowledgable guide.

The Livingstone Museum included collections and information on the archeology, history, geography, and culture of the area. There was a huge relief map showing the falls and its gorges, which helped put that into perspective. I especially enjoyed learning about life in a typical village, David Livingstone's adventures, the struggle for Zambia's independance, and some traditional religious practices through the many displays.

Zambia is not crowded with tourists, and it is more affordable than many places. I hope that some of you will consider a trip here if you ever come to southern Africa. Take a look at the Bradt Guide on Zambia (by Chris McIntyre) for accurate information--or email me. It was a great trip, and I look forward to exploring some other wonderful sights while here in Zambia.

Young Widows' Network

2010-06-18T06:19:00.000-07:00

Because of a chance encounter, I have been on Zambian national TV!

Three weeks ago, a young woman, Evelyn, followed me out of church and asked to speak with me. She told me that she had organized four groups of young widows in the compounds near Mindolo, and they were having a joint conference/fundraiser June 12. Would I buy a ticket and come if I had the time? I asked her to tell me more about herself and this endeavor, so she came and had tea with me.

Evelyn completed a social work/community development diploma a year ago, and hasn't yet found work. (Side comment: this is an all-too-common reality here in Zambia.) But she decided that while she was waiting for employment, she could use her skills to organize other young widows for mutual support and group education and action. Many young widows are HIV+. Their husbands strayed and brought AIDS home and have died, but they are surviving and raising children. One of Evelyn's goals is to encourage all the widows to be tested and know their status, and to reduce the stigma attached to being HIV+. She is not herself HIV+, but she is aware of how important it is to begin the anti-retroviral medications early.

I shared with her that I, too, was a widow, and that Jenny, my neighbor, had organized a widows group in another area not far from us. By the time I brought Jenny and Evelyn together, Evelyn had decided to invite us as speakers, along with the MEF chaplain and a friend of mine who is a student and is a widow from Kenya.
On the appointed day, we all gathered in a high school auditorium for a very Zambian style meeting. First, all the leaders and speakers processed in, to lively music. The meeting opened with praise singing and prayer. Groups were introduced. One of the older widows spoke about the difficulties of widowhood and the value of working together. Then we sang and danced.

Next we had a talk by the chaplain, who used the story of Ruth and Naomi as his theme. After he spoke, there was more singing and dancing, and even the speakers, including the chaplain, were expected to dance. The women applauded our efforts, although we lacked their grace and expertise--but we made up for it with energy and enthusiasm! More reflections and then a presentation by a City Councilman. That is why we were on TV. He brought a cameraman and his presentation was filmed, with us in the background at the head table. Next came the collection of offerings of financial support for the work. A cloth was placed on the floor, and we all sang and danced our way to the cloth and dropped our money onto it. Even the politician contributed, as well as promising them assistance from his office.

Lunch was served, prepared by some of the women--chicken, rice, coleslaw--and the program continued. Margaret spoke of the challenges faced by African widows because of tradition and poverty, but recognized their resilience and faith, as well. Jenny spoke about group process and empowerment, and I followed, speaking about how to develop participatory, self-reliant, cooperative groups and how to plan projects. More singing, dancing, and praying followed, and the speakers and leaders processed out and formed a reception line to greet the participants.

Both Jenny and I had illustrastions in our talks that seemed to help the women understand our main point. To explain empowerment, she spoke of a man who found a butterfly chrysalis and saw how the butterfly inside was struggling to emerge. Trying to be helpful, he cut a slit so the butterfly could come out, and it did, but it crawled out of its cocoon,fell onto a leaf, fluttered its wings, and never flew. It needed to struggle in order to make its wings strong enough to fly. Outside help can be crippling, but our own efforts strengthen us. (This story comes from scn.org).

To illustrate my talk, I brought along a bundle of twigs. I asked for a volunteer from the audience, a strong woman. One came forward. I pulled out a single twig and asked her to break it. She easily broke it in half. I said that alone, we can sometimes be broken by difficulties. Then I asked her to try to break the bundle of sticks. She grabbed it with both hands and tried hard, but she couldn't break the bundle. That's what happens when we join together and stay together as we work in groups. We have strength and power!

Evelyn was an amazing facilitator and organizer of this event. She knew how to balance sitting time and active time, how to celebrate and motivate, and how to involve everyone in some part of the event. Now comes the hard work of cultivating leadership in the groups and finding income-generating projects to sustain the work. The life of a widow in Zambia is more difficult than most of us in America could ever imagine, but this movement offers help and hope.

Chishawasha Children's Home

2010-06-12T14:34:00.000-07:00

Chishawasha Children's Home is located just outside of Lusaka, Zambia's capitol. Kathe Padilla, from Tucson, set up the Zambian Children's Fund (ZCF) and founded Chishawasha about 12 years ago. The home and school serves AIDS orphans. I visited last month when on a layover in Lusaka.

The campus is impressive. Except for the first house, which is larger, all the resident orphans live in cottages with 12 children and a Zambian housemother. Like any other family, the children share the chores of cooking, cleaning, and tending the garden. Each house has a small library of children's books, something I had seen nowhere else in Zambia. Many children here (probably most of them) have never had picture books or chapter books to read at home. There are few public libraries, and they are not free. Books to purchase are unavailable or extremely expensive. So it was rereshing to see a collection of books for free reading in the cottages.

The school educates both the 70 resident children and a simiar number of orphans living with relatives in the area, grandparents, mostly. The orphans from the surrounding community receive breakfast and lunch as part of the school day.The facility reminds me of an elementary school back home--attractive classrooms with many posters and maps and displays. When I commented that the desks were just like the ones my children used in school, Kathe said they were surplus from Tucson Unified School District which had been shipped by ZCF to Zambia! Every two years, ZCF ships a container full of school supplies and items Chiswhawasha can use of sell to raise funds.

The school teaches grades 1-8, with the intention of adding each grade of high school as the current 8th graders progress. They have a new computer lab thanks to a generous donor. With their own generator and other equipment, they have dependable electricity and regular, strong access to the Internet--which I must admit, I envied.

The Zambian school system is based on the British model. All children take a standard national examination at the end of the 7th grade. They must pass at a certain level in order to progress on to secondary school. Because the past educational experience of some of the children at Chishawasha is inconsistent and sometimes lacking altogether, not all of them will be equipped to complete school through grade 12, or they will be too old to continue in school. So there are vocational training opportunities being developed at Chishawasha. I visited the carpentry shop and was impressed with the equipment and plans.

Like most charitable endeavors, the Zambian Children's Fund and Chishawasha Children's Home are in constant need of financial support. In order to move toward self-sufficiency, they are opening an income-generating project next month. They were given a plot of land on the road between the Home and Kafue national park. They are erecting a rest stop for tourist busses. There they will have clean and modern toilets and a store where snacks and crafts created by the children can be sold. I encourage you to check out their web site for pictures and more information on the program.

The children cared for at the Chishawasha Children's home and educated through the Zambian Children's Fund have opportunities to learn and develop to their full capacity. One small program cannot meet the huge need of Zambia, but it transforms the life chances of a number of future Zambian citizens--and potential community leaders.

Blessings and Burdens: Families in Zambia

2010-06-04T23:37:00.000-07:00

Everywhere in the world, family is our source of comfort, nurture, and connection. (And, inevitably, also a source of some degree of aggravation!) Family is necessary for survival in places where there are few other resources. That is certainly the situation here in Zambia. Younger people are expected to care for their elders in the absence of something like our Social Security system. Children depend on parents and relatives to feed and clothe them and pay school fees.

When usual family structures fail on a large scale, as has happened because of deaths due to AIDS, people add distant relatives and even the children of neighbors or friends to their families. Such children are not always welcomed by the entire family and sometimes are treated as servants; other times they are integrated as additional and equal family members. But it is always challenging to accommodate the expense of additional family members you did not count on having.

Recently I observed several examples of the blessings and burdens of family among Zambians I have gotten to know. The first situation was that of Aaron, a 9th grade student living with his grandmother. He asked if I could help him with part of the bus fare to visit his mother in Lusaka. She is quite ill, and he had not seen her for a year. He had worked and earned half of the cost of a ticket, but the semester break was nearly over and he needed to go right away so as not to miss any school. I agreed to help and gave him the money. A few days later he came to see me, and I asked how the visit had been. He told me that he was very sorry, but he hadn't gone. When he had gotten home with the money, his grandmother saw it and told him she wasn't feeling well and wanted to visit the doctor. She said she would pay him back from what she earned in the market, but she has not. So he came to tell me that he knew I had given the money to him for a purpose, and since he hadn't used it that way, he wanted to tell me he would do yard work and pay me back. We were disappointed that he had not been able to see his mother.

Violet, who cleans house and does laundry for me, asked this week if she could have an advance against her salary. She was asking for a large sum, so I asked what was going on. Some relatives from a village had shown up on her doorstep, unannounced, expecting hospitality. Several weeks had passed, and she was having trouble feeding and caring for them in addition to her own boys. They told her they would return to their village if she could give them transport money. Hence, the request. They have now returned to their own home.

Finally, my friend Caroline, who is raising 12 orphans in addition to her own children, had a family setback. Her husband, a taxi driver, was hospitalized for a week with a severe case of malaria. Fortunately, he recovered, but with hospital bills and the loss of his salary, they could not manage. They had to move to a smaller, less expensive rental home in a different compound, at least temporarily. In order not to disrupt the education of the children, she had to ask various friends from her old neighborhood to take in the orphans temporarily. She continues to support them by giving food and school supplies to the families providing temporary care, and she is grateful that she was able to place all of them in good homes until she can resume caring for them.

On my personal family front: My ninth grandchild was born May 29, a few days after my return to Zambia. His first name, Matan, means "gift" in Hebrew, and his middle name is my late father's name, Loyal. Cathy and the baby are both doing well, as are Asher, the father, and Noa and El'ad, the sister and brother. I have been able to see Matan, live and in real time, on Skype--one of the marvels of modern technology.

Blessings to all of you and your families!

Customs, Courtesy, and Interesting Names

2010-05-28T16:17:00.000-07:00

The chief and elders from one of the Zambian tribes were on the MEF campus for a few days recently, holding a court session. We were given instructions in how to greet the chief respectfully if we should encounter him. Women were to kneel before him, clap our hands twice, and say good day in either his dialect or our native language if we didn't know his. Men did the same, but only bending one knee. I saw the guests in their long traditional robes at a distance one morning, but never had the opportunity to try the greeting ceremony.

Zambians have some everyday customs related to greetings that are interesting. Young women and girls often curtsy when greeting or serving an older person or someone in a high position. Men use a three-part handshake with friends and acquaintances, sometimes including women. It involves extending the hand horizontally as if to shake hands, touching, then moving the had vertically and locking thumbs, then back to the shake. Hard to describe, but not too hard to learn.

Equally interesting are Zambian names. Most people seem to have both an English name and an African name. For the English names, Biblical characters are quite popular. Three brothers who come to my place regularly for PB&J sandwiches are Aaron, Moses, and Gideon, and their cousin is Lazarus. There are many men named Shadrack and Mishack, but I have yet to meet an Abednigo. Ezekiel, Leviticus, Enock and Esau are other men's Biblical names.

Women are more likely to be named for qualities or characteristics: Beauty, Blessing, Bright, Charity, Faith, Fanciful, Gift, Hope, Innocent, Magnificent, Memory, Offering, Pardon, Patience, Precious, Princess, Prudence, Respect, Shalom, Style, Wisdom.

Sometimes you wonder what the family was thinking when they named the child (truly!) Wedlock, or Unwanted, or Orphan. There are quite a few people named Friday, Saturday, or Sunday, but I haven't encountered any other days of the week. Men have the surnames of U. S. presidents as their first names--Kennedy, Roosevelt, Nixon. There are men named Shakespeare and Dickens and Amadeus. More than a few have first names like Finnegan, Rodgers, Macdonald, Wellington, Blackwell, and Davison.

Then, there are the two-word names like Happygirl, Goodluck, Keepon, Wiseman, Passwell, and Lovemore. And finally there are the creative names like Devilious, Lubinda, and Loveness. I am told that there is one tribe that names their children for products, and so you have a Spoon, a Hosepipe, and a Cellphone! Surnames are often melodic: Timba, Musama, Lubinga, Kachele, Chisanga, Kabutu, Chibundi. And place names are hard for us to pronounce sometimes: Chimwemwe and Twatasha are compounds near Mindolo, and our river is the Kafue.

I am back in Zambia after a 2-week absence. My daughter Cathy was expecting a baby May 18, so I scheduled a visit for May 16-25--but the baby still hadn't come when I had to leave. More news soon!

Working Without Pay & Ghost Workers

2010-05-14T08:00:00.000-07:00

The elementary and secondary schools had a break after Easter. They were scheduled to resume classes May 3. But for the past couple of weeks most of the kids have still been hanging around outside. I asked what was going on. Oh, they told me, our teachers aren't coming, so we just go and study with our classmates for a little while, then we come out to play. Why aren't the teachers coming? In the government (public) schools, it seems thay have not been paid since the end of last year. Turns out that government health workers haven't been paid, either. Both groups are apparently discussing going out on strike.

Up until now, the teachers have been working every day, despite the missing paychecks. How do the teachers manage to go without salaries for four or five months? They all ofer "extra lessons" before and after school, for which the pupil pays. But that is a pittance. So I don't know how they manage. But now I understand why I have had people come to me asking to borrow money to tide them over until they get paid.

This happens in NGOs and other institutions, as well. Money is scarce, but the work is there and needs to be done. And the patient Zambians carry on in a way I doubt that most of us would. I'm told that with the threat of a strike, some back pay will start to be found. I certainly hope so!

At least Zambia does not seem to have the "ghost worker" problem that Uganda had when I worked there, and according to a report on BBC, still has. These are individuals, usually political appointees, who are put on the payroll but never come to work. They just collect their salaries. There is a move to find and stop such corruption, but it has been going on for more than 20 years.

I thought our budget woes in Arizona were bad, but this problem of work without pay in Zambia gives me a new perspective on how awful some situations can become--and yet how people somehow cope and keep on providing services to children and those who are ill.

I am on my way back to the U.S. for a short trip to be with my daughter and her family to welcome a new grandchild due May 18. They are living in Washington, DC. Cathy has already packed four 50-pound suitcases with books and supplies needed in Zambia, and I will fly back with them on the 26th of May. So you may not see a blog next week, but I'll be back the week after.

Human Rights and Zambia's Prisons

2010-05-07T12:42:00.000-07:00

Most places, prison inmates are among the least privileged people in the population. This is certainly true in Zambia. Human Rights Watch, together with two Zambian prison advocacy groups, issued a report this week on the deplorable conditions in jails and prisons here. They were called "death traps" because of malnutrition, rampant HIV/AIDS and TB, and abusive living conditions.

I had wondered about prison life when I heard that the offering we take at the monthly joint chapel service (MEF, the 2 seminaries, and the YWCA) was donated to the local prison. The money is used to buy soap for hygiene and supplemental food.

The inmates receive one meal a day of n'shima (corn meal porridge) with a watery bean sauce. This ration provides insufficient calories for a grown man. All of them must work. Some women inmates have babies and young children living in prison with them. No additionsal food is provided--they must share their mother's portion. The vegetables grown on the prison farm are sold in the market rather than being used to feed the men.

There is one doctor for a total census of 16,666 inmates. That doctor reported that over half of the health problems he attended were related to or complicated by malnutrition. Condoms are not made available, despite the prevalence of HIV/AIDS within this population.

The facilities are holding four to six times the number of prisoners for which they were designed. Cells are so overcrowded there is no room to lay down at night. The men must sleep in shifts on the floor. Because the guards are understaffed and overworked, a system of prisoner social control has developed and is tolerated. The strongest and most vicious are in charge of maintaining order. They occupy the only cots in the cells. They grant favors and protection in exchange for sex or for commodities received from family packages.

Other abuses found during the investigation included failure to provide water to the crews who worked outside in the hot sun, no pay for prison labor, and mixing of young prisoners with older, more serious offenders. Solitary confinement in one prison visited by Human Rights Watch took place in a windowless cell filled with ankle-deep water and no toilet facilities.

If families have resources, they try to supplement the diet and provide blankets and warm clothing for their incarcerated loved ones. But many inmates have no family able to help.

Life in Zambian prisons violates United Nations minimum standards that a state must observe for those deprived of their liberty. Zambia's own laws require an adequate diet for inmates, as well. We hope that the Human Rights Watch report will stimulate reform efforts to bring improved living conditions and more humane treatment for this population.

Bus Mottos and Advice

2010-04-30T10:50:00.000-07:00

MEF is several kilometers from Kitwe. When going to town to shop for food or to take money from the bank, I usually walk to the highway and catch a minibus. The fare is about 50 cents, and buses are plentiful. However, many people walk all the way to town. Often the women have babies on their backs and burdens on their heads, which they somehow balance despite the roughness of the paths. They certainly develop perfect posture!

My initial bus rides were each learning experiences in different ways. The first time, while crossing the street I saw a very crowded minibus at the stop. It seemed so full I waved it on and decided to wait for the next one. I noticed that the bus went on a few yards, somehow squeezed in two more passengers, and then headed to Kitwe. Moments later, an empty bus arrived, and I happily boarded and chose a window seat. And waited. And waited. Several other people got on board, but still we waited. A full bus passed us by, and we waited still. Petreol (gas) is so expensive here that the bus will not take off until it has filled up with as many people as it can possibly hold, together with their packages and lap children and backpacks. I would have made it to town a good 15 minutes earlier had I boarded that crowded bus!

The next week, I was going at a later time of day, and had waited perhaps ten minutes without seeing a bus going my direction, when the driver of a bus across the street asked if I were headed to town. When I said yes, he motioned me into his nearly full bus. I assumed that he was going to turn around to head in the right direction, but I was wrong. Turns out there are two routes to town. The direct route, which I had taken before, and the back way, which involved meandering through many dirt roads and small compounds along the way. It took twice as long, but I got to see many settlements, a police station, and rows of roadside stands selling different foods and products.

There are two interesting features about busses in Zambia. The first is the bus mottos, and the second is the pre-departure rituals on long-distance busses. I noticed mottos right away, usually two or three word phrases stenciled onto the top of the front windshields, sometimes on the back as well. I was inspired to start collecting them on the day when I boarded a bus that said "Trust God" and found that we were following a bus that said "Slow Down". Good counsel, I thought, whichever way you read it, and I started recording the messages on busses as I rode to and from town.

Some mottos offer advice: Just Do It!, Remember God, Trust and Obey, Unity and Love, All Things Are Possible, Why Not?, Trust God, and Slow Down. Other are expressions of pride or commentary by the owner/driver: This Bus is Best, Big and Beautiful, Big Boss, 10 Years of Challenge, I Am the Champion of Faith, and No Panic: God is in Control. The most common message is an expression of faith: Amazing Power of the Lord, Do God's Will, In God We Trust, God is Able, The Lord is my Shepherd, Jehovah who Answers, God's Miracles, Blessed Hope, Blessings of God, Brotherly Love, The Holy Spirit, Grace, and Blessings. Occasionally it is hard to understand what is meant. One bus said "Face 2 Face" on its front window. Another had a saying in Bemba which translates "Teeth are Just Bones". But two were just plain funny, at least to English speakers. One was a truck which said "Father, Forgive Them" on the back window, and on the mud flaps "They don't know what they're doing." The other was on the side of the vehicle: "This bus is covered by the blood of Jesus."

Finally, there is the experience of riding a long-distance bus, from Kitwe to Lusaka, for instance. I am told that first, while waiting for the bus to finish filling up, it is common for a preacher to come on board and give a message about how to live a good life and be pleasing to God. Afterwards, he or she might pass down the aisle with a small bag to take any offerings passengers might want to give. After the preacher leaves and all the seats are full, either the bus driver or a passenger will stand and pray for a safe journey, for the needs of the people on the bus and their families, for guidance and help with all of life's struggles. Then and only then are they considered ready to start the journey, properly blessed.

OVCs and Trust Community School

2010-04-24T06:42:00.000-07:00

When I arrived in Zambia, I knew that I would encounter some commonly used abbreviations, like NGO for Non-Governmental Organization and the local MEF for Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation. But OVC was new to me. MEF offers courses in working with OVCs. Turns out it is the abbreviation for Orphans and Vulnerable Children. And there are far too many in Zambia! The life expectancy here is listed by most sources as 38, although I did find one study that reported a figure of 46. People die young from malaria, AIDS, pneumonia, and other illnesses made more deadly by the weakness of malnourished people.

The plight of OVCs is not just that they live in extreme poverty, often in crowded conditions with extended family and sometimes on the streets. Many of them are not in school. At all. School here costs money. Government schools charge fees ($50-$150 tuition, plus exam fees of $35 or more) and require uniforms. Private schools do, too. I have seen a report that said 40% of all school age children are either not in school or attend erratically because of lack of money for fees. There are no public libraries, few parks or playgrounds (actually, I've seen none), and so I wonder what these children do. In town, some of the street kids are sniffing petrol and showing the effects of brain damage.

So visiting Trust Community OVC School was a breath of fresh air. Besides public and private schools, in some places people have organized at the local level to create a community school which is available free. Trust Community School (TCS) is located in the Chimwemwe-Recourse area, about 10 minutes away from MEF by car. The people of the community, inspired by a retired teacher, got together and decided to start a school in 2005. A land owner gave permission for them to use some vacant land, at least for awhile. They built two rough wooden buildings housing two classrooms each, plus an office and an outdoor class meeting area. A curtain divides the classes, and light filters in through spaces between the boards and from the open area between the top of the wall and the supports for the roof. I hope to have some pictures to post in the near future.

Children sit on benches. The older ones have composition books and pens or pencils, the younger ones draw letters in the dirt with sticks. The teachers use blackboards and a few hand-made teaching aids. There is a map of Zambia painted on one of the outdoor walls. The children are quiet and attentive. When resources are available, TCS has a feeding program to provide a bowl of porridge when the children arrive, since many of them are hungry and they learn better with food in their bellies. But when resources are scarce, they cannot feed the students.

There are 5 teachers and the school holds two sessions a day, serving 350 children. Three of the teachers are government certified, two are teachers in training. They could be considered volunteers, since they are only paid the equivalent of $35 a month. I didn't think to ask, but I imagine that some of them are paid a bit by families for extra lessons or tutoring, and there is surely another income in their households.

The school teaches children grades K-7. It also serves as a community center for HIV/AIDS education and adult literacy classes. Their mission and vision statements speak of educating OVCs and also of reducing illiteracy and providing survival skills and promoting self-reliance among widows, widowers, those living with HIV/AIDS, and "over-aged" school leavers.

The land owner has notified the school of his intention to try to sell the plot where the school is located. The principal, supporters and community leaders were aware that this might happen, so they have spent a good deal of time and energy working with the local government to secure recognition as a charity and to request a plot of land from the community. After many trips to the City Council and much paperwork, they have been given a plot large enough for an expanded school and a farm which can be income generating as well as teaching sustainable agriculture concepts to the children and families. (Most people here grow some food, if they have any little bit of land.)

Of course, the challenge is securing resources. They work with what they have in a way which exemplifies "asset based community development" (all my former students, take note!). But they must receive some help from donors to be able to survive even now, and more to build a quality structure on their new land. Once their income generating projects are set up, they think they can become self-sustaining, but that is quite far in the future. They envision selling produce from the farm, raising chickens, and setting up a carpentry shop.

For now, every day they teach the children that they have in the facility the community built. Some of the older students took the national exam required at the end of 7th grade last fall, and passed. TCS has managed to find sponsors to pay school fees so they can continue on to secondary school. An architect has drawn detailed plans for the new school.

I'm inspired by the spirit and the dedication represented by all the people who make Trust Community School possible. While the ideal solution for Zambia is developing a system of quality free public education, in the meantime, a school like TCS is making a difference for one group of OVCs.

Malaria Dreams

2010-04-17T15:47:00.000-07:00

Malaria is endemic in Zambia. It is the leading cause of death in children under 5. It is also a major contributor to the deaths of persons with compromised immune systems from HIV/AIDS or severe malnutrition. The most dangerous kind is called "cerebral malaria," characterized by fever, headache, confused thinking, flu-like aches and pains, and disorientation. Untreated, it can kill even a previously healthy person.

Every Sunday, I take anti-malaria medication. It is called Mefloquine Hydrochloride, the generic form of Lariam. Two warnings are printed on the container: "May cause dizziness," and "Call your doctor immediately if you experience mood changes, such as new or worsening feelings of sadness, depression, or fear." Luckily, I only felt dizzy after the first time I took the pill, and then only briefly. I have not experienced mood changes. So far, anyway...

Instead, my reaction is what I call "malaria dreams." Additional potential side effects are listed on the enclosure that comes with the pills, and one of them is nightmares. I don't have nightmares, but I do have colorful, bizarre and memorable dreams. People from my past materialize, speak, even dance in and out. Sometimes I am floating, other times I am watching. There are houses with many rooms, open and locked doors, roads cloaked in mists and paths bathed in golden light. I remember fragments. Sometimes I wake up speaking out loud to a character in my dream.

Here at MEF, we all sleep under mosquito nets. The buildings and grounds are sprayed quarterly. And still people get malaria. Caroline (my hostess last week) stopped by today on her way back from a clinic where she had taken her baby for treatment after he was diagnosed with malaria. They do not have mosquito nets at her home. I recall hearing that the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation was working on the eradication of malaria and was providing mosquito nets in countries with high rates of malaria. The MEF nurse, Margaret, says that she has been notified by the government health ministry that mosquito nets will be coming from America. I pray that they will come to Zambia soon!

Hospitality failure: I couldn't eat the caterpillars

2010-04-09T09:00:00.000-07:00

Back in my Peace Corps days, I vowed to eat anything offered in home hospitality. This seemed especially important when the invitation was from a family with limited resources who had prepared food especially for the guests. I have eaten some interesting things under that rule: guinea pig in Peru (yes, tastes like chicken), a hundred year egg in a Chinese home (blackish-greenish in color, kind of salty), "old ham" and beaten biscuit in Kentucky (dry as dust and hard as rocks), roasted goat (tough but good) and millet drink (bitter) in Uganda, but I had never before been faced with a bowl of roasted worms. If the food has a strong flavor, eating it while holding your breath so you don't smell it helps a lot. But these roasted caterpillars looked like caterpillars, had no odor, and the crispy-chewy texture--and then idea of eating a worm--was what I couldn't handle. I did manage to get half of one down, surrounded by nshima, the cornmeal mush that is a staple here, but that was my limit. Fortunately, I had only put two on my plate.

This happened in Caroline's home. She is a big-hearted Zambian woman I met recently who takes in orphans. She asked if I had visited in a Zambian home yet, and when I said I hadn't, she said she would invite me to her house. I don't teach on Fridays, so today she came by to take me for a visit.

She came with the baby tied around her back in a colorful cloth sling. We walked out of the compound, down the road, onto a dirt path through a market, down more dirt roads, to another market where she bought some local eggplants, onions, and the caterpillars. Mountains of caterpillars. She smiled and asked if I liked them. I confessed that I had never eaten one, it was not a food we ate in my country, but I would try them. We walked some more.

When we had walked about an hour, we reached a main road. She asked if I wanted to take a collective taxi the rest of the way, or keep walking. The sun was hot, so I opted for the collective taxi, and we squeezed in with 2 others in the back seat and bounced along for at least 15 minutes more on rutted roads. That was the best dollar I ever spent! When we got out, we still had a ten-minute walk to Caroline's home through wide dirt roads with houses close together, neatly swept yards, many trees.

Crispin, her husband, is a taxi driver. They have 3 children of their own, ages 1, 4, and 7. Caroline farms, cares for her children and the orphans, and is looking for other income generating projects. They feed, clothe, educate and support 12 orphans, none related to their family, in their rented 2-room home. You read it right, two rooms! Here's how it works.

One room is the multi-purpose sitting-room, semi-kitchen, and sleeping room and the other is the bedroom and clothes storage area. There is a wooden front door, but the two rooms are separated only by a curtained doorway. In the all-purpose room, there is a small refrigerator, two sofas and a stuffed chair, a TV (the only luxury), a low coffee table, rolled up grass mats, and in the corner a huge plastic tub filled with all the clean dishes and pots and pans. Cooking is done in the front yard, over a charcoal fire. Clothes are also washed there and hung behind the house on a line to dry. The youngest orphans sleep with the family in the bedroom, the others bed down on the floor and couches in the all-purpose room at night.

Some of us ate in the all-purpose room, others in the yard on mats. Most people eat with their hands in Zambia, just as they did in Uganda. We were given a bowl of water and soap to wash our hands before eating. There is no running water in the home. A latrine is out back.

The orphans range in age from 2 to 16. All but the youngest are in school, which means that this family pays most of its salary for school fees. (Public education is not free in Zambia. School fees run between $50-$125 per child per year, depending on school and grade level.) Much of what they eat grows on the family's small farm plot, a short diatance away. Our meal was nshima, the staple food here, a firm ball of cornmeal mush, together with sweet potato greens cooked with onions, and the roasted caterpillars, which the rest of the family ate happily. I hope they are a good source of protein. We drank chilled boiled water.

Caroline says that she was helped by others when she was growing up, so that is why she takes in the orphans. The older ones try to find part-time work in addition to school to supplement the family income, and they somehow get by. Caroline shows me pictures of some of the people who help her with money when they can because they know that she struggles to find the resources to care for all of them. She lives by faith, and God has never let her down. It is a family full of love.

What an eye-opening and amazing first experience with home hospitality in Zambia!

On Teaching without Textbooks

2010-04-03T03:23:00.000-07:00

When I first arrived at MEF, I met my neighbor, Jenny, a mental health social worker from England. She is teaching the counseling methods course, and is the only other non-Zambian faculty in the program. I asked her about teaching materials and methods. She explained that Zambian students are expected to learn from the lecturer. They will copy down everything the instructor says in their composition books. She said she had prepared a set of handouts for her students when she was back home.

Textbooks are simply not available, and if they were, they would be beyond the resources of the students. The average laborer earns about $100 a month. I don't know what professionals earn, but our students mostly live in dormitories. No one has a car or even a bicycle. They walk everywhere, or take a minibus from the highway. No student has a personal computer or laptop. A few have cell phones. In this program, students receive a diploma, and the level is roughly equivalent to our community college AA degree. The accrediting body is the Technical Education, Vocational, and Entrepreneurial Training Authority within the Ministry of Education.

I was given my teaching assignments by Mrs. Kamiji Malichi, coordinator aof the social work program. She asked me to teach a one-week intensive module on community social work, and then to teach the full semester psychology (human behavior in the social environment) class this semester. She gave me a 3-page outline of the content to be covered in the HBSE course, and one page for the community module. The outlines came from a standardized curriculum manual issued by the government. I asked about resource materials for the instructor. She searched among a set of books in the social work office and came up with a psycholgy textbook from Great Britain, published in 2000. She also gave me a supply of chalk and a dry erase marker. I had told her that I brought several community practice texts with me.

Well, I thought, I'll visit the library and explore what's available there. And, of course, there is the Internet. The library is an appropriate size for the size of the studentbody, but most of the reference and resource books are long out of date. (Possibly discards from some university cleaning out their shelves, or the gift of a 1980's donor.) I found the American Corner, a mini-library set up by our government. It is designed mainly as a resource for students seeking information about the U.S., especially our educational institutions and opportunities. There I found a recent sociology textbook in their collection of materials.

The Internet has been my salvation for supplemental lecture preparation materials when I can access it, but that is the problem. I have a mobile Internet device that plugs into a port on my computer (and on which I load airtime several times a week). It is great for my gmail account, but the strength of the connection is inadequate to allow me to open many web sites, especially during the week. So my daughter Cathy has been finding resources for me and pasting them into emails. It works!

The students are attentive and respectful. In the beginning, they would rise when I entered the classroom and wouldn't leave until I left. Students who were tardy to class would knock timidly and ask permission to join the class late. We set up new class expectations, including that they were to let me know when they did not understand or when what I said didn't seem to fit with or make sense in their culture. It has taken awhile, but we now have more class participation and even debates over some issue, such as the wisdom of corporal punishment as a form of discipline. It is commonly used in the K-12 schools here, where class size may be 50 or more students, but even within my class the students disagreed about its effectiveness and impact. (I had been teaching about social learning.)

Teaching without textbooks has challenged my creativity. I have developed handouts, but even that is difficult in a campus with only one copy machine and limited supplies of paper and toner. The people are poor in Zambia, and so are the institutions. I have put the students into study groups and discussion circles and have slowed the pace of presenting material to accommodate thorough note-taking. All assignments, even research papers, are neatly hand-written with margins drawn by ruler. (I'm sure that at the university level students can access computers, at least in the capitol, and better libraries...I hope.)

Some of my ASU colleagues learned about the lack of books. They, along with a book publisher, have donated some recent textbooks. I am returning to the U. S. briefly for the birth of a grandchild next month. I'll pick up the books and bring them with me when I return to Zambia to add to the social work resource collection and the library. Many thanks, friends, they will be well used!

Church Services in Zambia

2010-03-27T13:12:00.000-07:00

I have been attending the Mindolo United Church of Zambia, or "Mindolo UCZ" (but here, "z" is pronounced "zed" so it is UCZed.) This would be considered a mainline Protestant church, serving MEF and the surrounding community. The English language service is 8:30-10:15, followed by the service in Bemba from 10:30-noon. Both services are full to overflowing, and the sanctuary holds at least 400 people.

If I had to choose two words to describe worship, they would be spirited and organized. The singing shakes the building. Zambians, who are so soft-spoken in everyday conversation that you have to listen hard to capture what they are saying, sing with Ethel Merman gusto! The amazing part is that they all seem to sing harmony and they know the hymns by heart. (That is fortunate, since there are only a few "Africa Sings" songbooks--with words only--scattered through the pews.) Most of the time we are singing a capella. I recognize many of the hymns as ones my grandmother used to sing--Blessed Assurance, How Great Thou Art, and the like. Songs like "Siya Hamba" (We are Marching to the Light of God) or "I, the Lord of earth and sky..." are too modern for the edition of the songbook they have, although they do sing some lovely praise chants.

We sit on wooden benches with one plank behind our backs, women mostly in traditional African dress or at least skirts or chatangas (the colorful pieces of cloth from which you make a wrapped skirt, ankle length), the men in shirts and ties, or the African man's top decorated with embroidery. When the pastors and deacons come in, everyone rises until they are seated at the front, facing the congregation. Some wear robes, most do not. The choirs don't have robes, either.

After singing and an opening prayer, we have announcements. This is very important, for it is the source of communication about the life of the church. There are no bulletins for the service, no church newsletter--these would require resources and technology not available here. Instead, we learn about events and upcoming activities, births, deaths, and responsibilities through a period of announcements that can take 15 minutes. We learn which church group is scheduled to clean the church the following Saturday. People are thanked for help they have given, and newcomers are welcomed. At first, I couldn't figure out why, periodically, we clapped three times after some announcement or comment. Then I listened for the pattern, and discovered that it happens after the person adds the phrase "in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," we welcome you or thank you or send our condolences or whatever. So anouncements are punctuated by three claps every so often. No one ever falls asleep in the service!

More singing follows, and then the offering. There is a sort of table with wooden compartments at the front, and row by row, the entire congregation comes forward to deposit their gifts. The geographic area the church draws from is divided into 16 districts, and one's offering is placed in the bin corresponding to their district. Each church member has a personal blue laminated offering envelope which they probably pick up as they are coming into the church, or maybe they get it back after the service. There is a special bin labeled "Visitors" where non-members place their gifts. The choir sings while the offering is brought forward in this orderly procession, and then the choir sings and dances their way to the table to place their envelopes in the proper compartments. One Sunday, when a lot of people, mostly students, had come into the service right after the offering time, the pastor created a second offering time for the latecomers.

More singing, praying, and then the sermon. Since there is a theology school here at MEF, sometimes the sermon is given by a student. Always it is Biblically based, and everyone brings a Bible to the service and follows along with the scripture reading. The style of the sermons is more like an African American church than a white church, but perhaps not quite so emotional in this congregation. There are some "amens" from the congregation from time to time. And when the choir sings, sometimes a congregant will unselfconsciously stand and sing with them, or raise her arms or sway and dance with the music.

Sometimes the choir is accompanied by a keyboard, sometimes they sing a capella. There seem to be two choirs, one a youth group, and the music is always lively and rhythmic, frequently with patterned clapping and finger snapping. Sometimes they sing in Bemba, the local language.

The church building is a simple oblong structure with a copper corrigated roof. There are lace curtains at the windows, lace covers on the altar and lectern, and a blue curtain behind the altar. When we had communion, the curtain was opened to reveal a painting of the Last Supper.

When the service closes with more singing and a benediction, we all stand as the pastors and deacons walk back down the aisle, and then we are guided to leave pew by pew, in an orderly procession. People greet each other outside, especially if we didn't "pass the peace" during the service. Streams of people then walk home, some of them a couple of miles or more. I would say that there are no more than 5 to 7 cars driven to the service. Everyone else came on foot.

I plan to visit a few different churches while I am here. One of my students has invited me to her Pentecostal church, and tomorrow--at 7:30 am!--I am going with a neighboring family to the Bread of Life church (not sure what denomination it is.) Like my experience in Uganda, church is an important institution here and the congregation has a better balance of men and women than you see in most U.S. churches. I find that I miss inclusive language, that change hasn't reached here yet, but I love the strong, vibrant spirit in the worship and the radiant joy of the singing.

Moses and Violet

2010-03-19T04:16:00.000-07:00

Moses appeared at my back door two weeks ago, a tool called a slasher in his hand. He asked if he could work for me, cutting the grass and tending my yard. He was thin and looked hungry. We sat and talked. He hasn't been able to send his youngest child to school yet, because he can't afford the fees. He has 3 children, and the youngest is 6. We looked at my yard, which is quite large. He said he could plant a vegetable garden, and put flowers near the front and back doors. I hired him. All Zambians receive training in agriculture if they go to school at all, and he knew just what he wanted to do to create a beautiful yard.
He has come every day for at least part of the day to work. He asked if I would pay him the first week's pay at the end of the week so he could use it to make an installment payment and enroll his child in the government school. After that, however, he wanted to be paid only at the end of the month, so he could be saving money. His mother is a widow living in a little village, and her only support comes from her two surviving children. Her house is falling apart, and he and his brother want to repair it before the next rainy season. Every time he comes, he shows me what he has done and tells me his plans. He has not asked for anything other than his salary, but when I learned that his children were having problems with mosquito bites, I bought mosquito nets for their beds. Such a little thing, but he showed such gratitude.

Violet came to my back door to ask if I needed someone to do my laundry and clean house. Everything must be washed by hand, no washing machines, and also must be ironed to kill bugs that lay eggs in the seams of the clothes as they dry outside. She has completed the teacher training program to be able to teach at the primary level and is awaiting the results of the national exam. Assuming that she passes, she will begin to receive a small monthly stipend from the government and within a year or so they will assign her to a school in a rural area.
Violet's story is all too common. Orphaned, she was passed among the homes of various family members. She was physically abused and maltreated. She stayed in school, but at age 16 married to get out on her own. Everything was all right for a few years, until her husband began to beat her and to go with other women. She decided she would be better off without him, so she took her two boys and left. That was when she came to work for Adrian, the chaplain at MEF. He saw that she was a hard worker and smart, so he asked about her aspirations. When she said she had always hoped to be a teacher, he sponsored her at the MEF teacher training program. She passed her first year exam with merit, quite an accomplishment for a single mother studying, tending her home, working as a maid, and going to classes all at once. She completed the second year, including practice teaching, and now is awaiting her future career. Meanwhile, she cleans for Adrian and me. Her boys are 6 and 9, I believe. She always has a beautiful smile as she greets me on Mondays and Wednesdays.

More people have come to ask if they could work for me. There is such a need for work, and a willingness to work, among people here. I wish I had a better way to respond than to tell them that I'm sorry, I have all the help I can use with Violet and Moses.

Keep us all in your prayers.

International Women's Day in Zambia

2010-03-11T03:54:00.000-08:00

International women's Day, which is sponsored by the United Nations and is observed worldwide, is one of a small number of national holidays in Zambia. It happened Monday, March 8. No school, all public offices and a lot of businesses closed. There was a parade and celebration in Kitwe, with many participants--the YWCA, Girls Brigade, women's service clubs and church groups, women's student groups, professional women's organizations, all with banners and some with uniforms or coordinated colors. A band played, and it was festive and inspiring. Speakers identified areas of concern, including violence against women, HIV/AIDS, lack of representation in the political arena, need for more educational opportunities for girls. They also spoke of women's leadership in community improvement and social services. On the radio, BBC featured many stories about issues affecting women and about women's projects in Africa. (There is a special British Broadcasting Company FM station with an emphasis on news and stories of interest to Africa. It broadcasts 24 hours a day and is my radio station of choice here.)

At MEF, the chaplain asked if the women faculty, staff and students would plan a special observance to commemorate International Women's Day at chapel time scheduled for Tuesday, the day after. When we started thinking about it, I mentioned that there was a Bible story that might be a good one to share in the service, a story about courage and hope that features five sisters (Numbers 27:1-8). As Moses was leading the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, on their way to the promised land, a long and arduous journey, many people began to grumble and complain. Some of them rebelled. Among the people was a family with five daughters and no sons. The father died. By custom and law, daughters had no inheritance rights. These brave sisters, one of whom was named Noa (my granddaughter's name), went to Moses, Eleazar the priest, and the Assembly and asked for their father's portion, the property he was due among his clan when they settled in the new land. Moses took their case to God, and God instructed Moses to give the sisters property as an inheritance, and to do so for other families where the father dies without a son but with a daughter.
We all agreed that this story certainly fit with the theme of International Women's Day, which was "Women's rights, women's opportunity, progress for all." The students decided to have someone read the scripure and then to enact it in a skit (which they called a sketch). Different students volunteered to play the parts, and they went off to decide how to portray the story. I was asked to offer the reflection, and the choir of girls called "Joyful Noise" said they would choose a couple of songs that went with the theme.
The skit was wonderful, and definitely the highlight of the service. It was an African portrayal that captured the essence of the story dramatically. The sisters wore long traditional African dresses, with shawls to cover their heads signifying mourning. They came in carrying water and burdens on their heads, and swept the floor and talked about the loss of their father. Then they worried about their fate, since they would be left dependent upon uncles or other male relatives. They decided to go before Moses, in a humble way, but with a clear request. Moses was a tall, thin woman student who had used white cream to create the appearance of a beard, had a stick as a staff and walked slightly bent over. Everyone clapped at her creative portrayal. The sisters knelt down before Moses when they made their request (traditional African gesture of respect for great authority). Then Moses knelt before the altar, behind which another student was crouching to be the voice of God. Moses raised his arms and told God what he had been asked to do, and the voice of God pronounced the ruling. Moses went back to the sisters and the assembly, and all cheered and clapped. It really made the story come alive! Then we had the music and the short reflection and more music and that was our final commemoration of the holiday. I taught a class on community social work right afterwards, and we drew on the story to illustrate women's empowerment and how support of numbers working together helps in a change effort.

Someone was taking pictures at the chapel service, at the top of this entry there's a good one of Moses and another one of the five sisters.

Ready for Teaching

2010-02-26T11:45:00.000-08:00

A typical day this week: I awake to the squaking of crows and the sound of water coursing through the pipes. (We only get water at certain times of the day: 5-9 am, noon-2, and 4-9 pm.) After washing up and preparing breakfast, I head for chapel. The service starts at 8 and consists of half an hour of joyful singing, prayer, a reflection given by a student (they volunteer), and announcements. Sometimes a student group sings, and there seem to be several quartets or quintets that have formed among the various schools (education, social work, and journalism.)
Then I go back to my quarters to prepare class notes for the teaching that will start next week. There is no point in trying to get the Internet in the morning. If it isn't raining, I might take a walk before lunch, which is either fixed at home or occasionally taken at the dining hall with students. There, the traditional Zambian meal is nashima (a mound of corn meal mush) served with either a chicken, meat, or fish sauce, and cooked greens. I actually like it, but not every day.
In the afternoon, I go to the library or hook up my mobile Internet device and see if I can get online to do research for my teaching and, later in the day, to do email or communicate with family via Skype. When I go outside, I notice many beautiful butterflies flitting among the flowers and grasses.
As I walk down the road or on one of the paths, the Zambians I meet or pass always greet me and each other with a "good morning" or "good afternoon" or "how are you today?" I discover more programs on my walks--a clinic for women, an HIV/AIDS education project, a drop-in center for youth, a model nursery school, all within the compound. Most are run by Zambians.
One of the issues here, especially for muzungus, is how to respond to the person who comes to the door asking for help--money for the bus or food or help with a hospital bill or school fees. There is such deep poverty and so many needs. I tend to give food if they look hungry but I know I cannot help everyone who needs money.
In the evening, if not online, I read using my Kindle or visit with neighbors. Saturday is market day, and Sunday there is church. Then the new week begins, when I will teach an intensive module on community social work and then start the human behavior and social problems course that I will carry for the rest of the semester. The challenge will be to get feedback about whether the material I've prepared is culturally relevant here and to make appropriate adjustments. To get students to respond honestly and critically is difficult, given the respect they accord to authority figures and to international and white people. I'll try my best to make it happen!
Keep me in your prayers or thoughts, and best wishes and blessings in your work and lives.

In Zambia!

2010-02-20T06:11:00.000-08:00

Arrived safely Feb. 18 after 3 planes & 9 time zones. Located on the outskirts of Kitwe, Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation (MEF) includes a social work school, 2 theological seminaries, a peace training center, an administration building, and scattered dorms & cottages for students, staff, & volunteers. A YWCA is also part of the compound. Most of the teachers are African, from Zambia & surrounding countries.
I will live in a small apartment on campus and will mostly teach and develop curriculum in the social work program, established last year out of the recognition of the need for more people trained in community development, program management, and services for vulnerable children.
The people of Zambia are welcoming, gracious, soft-spoken. The country is very poor but stable politically. Kitwe is in the copperbelt, and mining is the main industry for the country. I think it would be a great place to come as a tourist, since there are national parks all over. The only well-known tourist destination would be Victoria Falls, but there is lots more to see. So come visit!
Internet connections are difficult, so be patient if you send me an email message. I will write more about my work in the next week or so.

Departure date: February 16, 2010

2010-02-01T08:44:00.000-08:00

I'm awaiting my visa and still getting my house ready to rent, but I now have airline tickets and a better idea of my assignments at the Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation (MEF). They want me to teach some social work classes, as well as organize a program for school leavers. (Isn't that a less pejorative name than dropouts?) Sounds as if I will be kept busy. Expect my next entry by the end of the month, once I'm settled.

Still in Tucson

2010-01-13T19:44:00.000-08:00

Thanks for visiting my blog. My departure date hasn't yet been firmed up, but I do know my destination: Kitwe, Zambia, the second largest city, located in the copperbelt region. Look directly north from Lusaka, close to the southern border of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. There I will work with the Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation, an educational and leadership training institution. I expect to be there by early February, so watch for more news!