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.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Four bottle caps, a milk carton, and a stick
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.
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.
Friday, July 9, 2010
A Zambian Kitchen Party
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!
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!
Friday, July 2, 2010
On the Dignity and Value of Work
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.
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.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Victoria Falls and Livingstone
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.
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.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Young Widows' Network
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.
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.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Chishawasha Children's Home
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)