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!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Sunday, February 6, 2011
We and They
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.
"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.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
the sound of music
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.
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.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
School's back in session--almost...
"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!.
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!.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Reflections from South Africa
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Tucson Troubles
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Customs and Controversy
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!
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!
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