I know that this is terribly late, and for that I apologize. This is my last post... for now. I say for now, because I plan to return. And when I do, I will continue to use this blog. 

The last several days of my trip were a whirlwind. I worked in the school and then I got to spend two days in Livingstone with one of the missionaries. We took a very long bus ride from Lusaka to Livingstone. I’m glad that I got to ride the bus, even though I spent five out of the seven-and-a-half hours car--er, bus--sick, because I got to see the surrounding area (we got to drive through the hills, which were gorgeous). 

The day after we got there, Miss Primrose and I spent the afternoon at Victoria Falls on the Zimbabwe side, which I have heard is the prettier side. As I stood in front of one of the most amazing natural wonders in the entire world, grinning and soaked to the bone, I wondered how on earth someone could spend even a second glancing at the Falls, then walk away and stubbornly proclaim, “There is no God.”

Before you even get to the Falls, you can see the huge cloud of water vapor in the sky. And you can hear them. It is one of the neatest sounds. I cannot adequately describe them, so I shall let the pictures speak:

As you can see, the water vapor is heavy. In some places, it is so heavy that all you can see is a white wall.

Please note the size of the protective fence.

After spending some time at the Falls, Miss Primrose and I had cappuccinos at the Falls Cafe. Then we headed back towards the Zambia-Zimbabwe border. Or, we thought we were. We ended up walking in the exact opposite direction for a little bit, before two taxi drivers told us that we were going in the wrong direction. So we headed back to the Zimbabwean customs, (where we got laughed at by the customs officers), then crossed the border and took a taxi to an Italian restaurant in Livingstone. There, I was opening my menu, when I saw a sign on a chalkboard: crocodile pizza. That was all I needed to see. I decided to try crocodile. It was quite good--it tasted like chicken with a fishy twist. (Why does everything come back to chicken?) That night we had dinner at the lodge, where I tried oxtail, which was not as good as crocodile. Let’s just say that it is not the sort of food that is desirable while carrying on a dinner conversation. I now know why toothpicks were invented. 

The next day, we set out on a safari into Botswana. The first part of the day was spent on the river, and the second was spent on a game drive. Here are some of the things we saw:

The next day, we headed back to the village. It was so good to see everyone again: I had missed them! 

The last few days of my stay were spent helping in the school. I was asked to substitute for third and sixth grade, so I was the class teacher. 

Before I knew it, I was packing to go halfway around the world. Leaving was the hardest part of the whole trip--it is impossible to make it through around one hundred goodbyes without dissolving into tears. Now that I am back, I have been praying for an opportunity to return. I hope to attend college and then use my major to return to Africa long-term. Please pray for me as I try to discern what to major in.

G.A.M.E.S. Week

After a successful school break and G.A.M.E.S. week, the school term began on Monday. Although I am enjoying being back in the classroom, I miss school break with the kids. I really got to know some of the kids during those couple of weeks, especially the older ones who aren't in my classes. 

G.A.M.E.S. was fun but tiring. I think that God gave me an extra dose—okay, five doses—of energy. I never have this much back in the States. I needed it that week! I was in charge of sports, which was fun, because I got to come up with all my activities for the kids. This was my second week in charge of sports, because the first week of break, some of the short-termers and I had put together a program for all of the kids. 

One of the highlights of G.A.M.E.S. week for me personally, and I think for the kids was water balloons. Two short-termers, Kathy and Lindsey, were in charge of the week, and they brought entire suitcases (note the plural term) of things for the week that they then donated to the school. When they had arrived, I sat in the living room, watching them pull thing after thing from their suitcases. I felt as if I were in the presence of Mary Poppins. Then Kathy said, “And in the next suitcase, I have a rocket ship.” 

I laughed, thinking that she was making a joke. “That’ll come in handy.”

“Yes, it will.”

She wasn’t joking. She had a folded up cardboard rocket ship that when put together, was big enough for kids to crawl into.

They had also brought water balloons. 200 to be exact. Let’s just say that they took a joint effort of and a couple of hours to fill up. The kids loved them. 

With 200 water balloons, I managed to spread them out among all of the classes (preschool to class six). We played hot potato, had some water balloon wars, did relays, and broke up a football game. Let’s just say that there is no quicker or more fun way to break up a football game. :)

One of the days on the break, some of the kids messed with my hair for the entirety of an afternoon. Add a wrap skirt and a container atop my head, and this is the result: 

I got a few wrap skirts (chitangas) in Lusaka, and one of the mamas said, “You are a Zambian now!”

I held up my wrist. “There’s just one problem.”

She looked at me, confused. “Bangles?”

“No, I’m white.”

She found this funny and after laughing, told me that I looked fine. 

I will try to post pictures soon, but it is 9:46 p.m. here, which is like midnight to us here at the village. :)

Two posts in one week: this is unusual for me! I just thought I'd include a short blurb about my day today. 

Today, all the kids, some of the mamas, two of the short-termers, and I watched The Emperor's New Groove. One of the newer kids here, Mapalo, is three-and-a-half, and I held her on my lap during the movie. She's a sweetheart. For the first few weeks that I was here, I never saw her smile, but she's been a lot happier lately. It makes me so glad. She fell asleep, and then one of the mamas came and took her. 

Today, I also hung out with some of the kids. Near the playground, a few of the mamas were singing songs in Bemba. Rabecca, one of the kids I've gotten close to, was translating for me. Then I walked over to the mamas, where they were dancing and singing. 

"Nice singing," I said. 

They smiled and laughed. Then one of the mamas motioned to me. "Come join us."

I weakly protested, but I joined their circle, attempting to mimic their foot movements. I looked over at the playground and saw Rabecca watching, laughing. Then, because I was watching her, I missed the beat. The mamas all laughed at me. It was great. They're so much fun to hang out with: we spent a while talking too. 

Odds and Ends

During Games week last week, I was in charge of planning the sports. It was tiring but fun. I haven’t done this much running around in a while. I also discovered that a whistle works wonders. Before, I would try to yell over the kids, but my lungs are no match for the lungs of ten kids all yelling over each other at the same time.

Then Samuel and Luka tried to help me, yelling over the yellers.

I have one more month here. I don’t want to go back to the States. I'm going to have such a difficult time leaving these beautiful kids, these beautiful people, this beautiful country. There are things I miss, but I love it here. I don’t miss the plague of busyness and coldness that the American culture suffers from.
And, yes, Lord willing, I don't plan for this to be my only visit to Africa.

A little over a week ago, I went into Chongwe, which is the nearest town. It’s only ten miles away, but it takes a while to reach. First, we have to go on the bumpy, dusty dirt road, which we have dubbed “Torture Road.” The road workers have made good progress on it, and they have paved a large section so far. This town is comprised of some shops and open air markets. At least, that’s what the section we visited was like. 

As some of the other short-termers and I walked, I took in everything. There was a small shop that only sold fabric for wrap skirts and dresses (chitangas.) There was a lady selling tons and tons of fish, most of them smaller than my finger. A woman sold odds and ends of chickens in clear plastic bags—chicken legs and feet, looking as if they had been plucked off a chicken. Intestines. I walked over to get a better look. 

“Five kwacha,” she said.

I smiled, thanked her, and moved on. I wasn’t feeling quite that adventurous. 

There was the butcher shop. I didn’t stay in that one very long. There was a cement room that felt a bit like a small warehouse, where women sold produce. Over the door, an old T.V. played the World Cup game very loudly. The market was divided into sections: there was a clothing section, shoes and clothes lying around outside. There was a furniture section, which was quite interesting. Men sat or stood, bent over, finishing beautifully carved doors and furniture.

Walking through the streets, I saw men playing checkers games with a board and bottle caps. 

On the way back to the village, we stopped at a roadside market to buy some produce. I got out to take pictures. The market exploded with a brilliant burst of colors—the bright greens of the melons, the rainbow of chitangas the women wore, the reds of the tomatoes, the fiery orange of the orange. Produce was laid out on tables. I snapped pictures, trying to capture the warring colors. I also took candid shots of some of the people. A man motioned to me, asking me to take a picture. So I did of his family. Then he tried to sell me a chicken. I declined. Then he asked me a question that broke my heart and made me desperately want to help. 

“Please, can you help to sponsor my kids to go to school?”

Two-and-a-half weeks ago, I went to dinner. I had heard that we were to have fish. I was thinking like an American. The fish would be cut, right? Wrong! I sat at the table, noticing a mixing bowl on the table. I looked in and saw tomatoes. The fish must be in there, right? Then I spooned some on my plate and looked in the bowl again. I had completely missed the fish—whole fish, head, fin, eyeballs, and all—lying across the top. I gulped, staring down the glassy-eyed dead fish. I couldn’t eat that. 

“But you’re missing out on a cultural experience,” I scolded myself. 

The other part of my brain was being stubbornly American. No thanks.

“You don’t eat fish?” Mama Rosa asked.

That settled it. 

I took a fish and put it on my plate, trying to be brave. I don’t eat much fish in general, and this was completely different than the fish I ate once in a blue moon. 

I ate my nsheema and greens, then glanced at Mama Rosa. To her amusement, I asked how I was supposed to eat it, and what part I was supposed to eat. 

The fish was good, but I shuddered upon encountering the vertebral column and gave the fin and head a wide berth. At a nearby table, some of the boys were eating the eyeballs and playing with the brains. I didn’t have the guts (pardon the pun) to do anything remotely similar.

Here are some pictures from Chongwe:

The order got messed up.

I just thought this looked cool: they're legumes. 

This lady was selling fish.

This was in the furniture section.

This blog post just wouldn't be complete without a picture of the butcher shop.

This is the only picture not taken in Chongwe: this was a roadside stand on the way back. 

More Pictures!

I didn't think that a nine year-old girl could ask me a question that would fill me with such sadness and make me reflect on life on general, but that is exactly what happened a few nights ago at dinner. I was sitting next to Beatrice, and throughout the meal, she was peppering me with questions: do you have a dog? How many sisters do you have? What is your favorite vegetable? But her second question broke my heart: do you have a mother? It was a question asked in passing. Only five words. But I cannot describe the impact that it made on me. Most of these kids are orphans, but there are some whose parents are in jail. Others have been abandoned. It breaks my heart that we live in a world where little children cannot assume that you have a mother. She is only nine, yet she has already gone through so much. I don’t know any nine year-olds in the States who would not assume that you have a mother. A child might have parents who are divorced, but he would at least have a mother. Here, you cannot assume this. 

School let out today for three weeks. I'm going to miss those students from the community. During the break, we short-termers will be organizing activities for the kids who live in the Rafiki village.

I also have a prayer request; the water situation here is critical; We are having water shortages in the Rafiki Village. It is the dry season in Zambia, and sometimes that means water challenges, but now they suspect a leak. It’s been difficult, as we are worried that we will run out. Please pray that they are able to locate and fix the leak and have enough water in general. It’s been an adjustment for me personally, since this means that we can’t take daily showers or do laundry. Please also pray for everyone in the village to maintain uplifted spirits and attitudes of grace and unity as they are experiencing these challenges and difficulties.

Last Sunday, I had the privilege of being invited to visit with two of the teachers, Pauline and Mackley. They picked me up, and we walked from village to village, visiting their homes and the homes of several of the day students. I got the chance to go into many of their houses as well. It was very neat to be able to meet the students' families. There was so much to take in and process and remember. It's a completely different world out there, even from the Rafiki village. It is a common saying that a picture is worth a thousand words, so I am not going to describe the surrounding areas right now in detail. Instead, I will post pictures to give you an idea.

This is what it looks like outside of the village. Please note the beautiful shade of the dirt. 

I'm not being sarcastic here: I really do like the color of the dirt. It lends character to this place.

This is one of the little shops along the road. 

This is the interior of one of the shops. Well, part of the interior. I thought the wall of cloth looked neat, so I had to take a picture. 

This is Chipego (the one holding the toddler). She is a day student in the kindergarten class. 

The main road outside of the Rafiki village is being repaired. (Which is nice, because it makes it a lot less dusty.) These road workers saw me taking pictures and started waving and yelling. They wanted me to wait "for permission," which I infer meant to wait until they could gather around and pose. 

The posed shot.

Some women hand-washing their clothes.

These people were building a house. The second time I passed it, I saw a little boy wearing a hard hat.

Mackley demonstrating how a water pump works. 

Another picture to give you a feel of what the surrounding area looks like.

Some friends of Mackley's.

The local bar. Loud music in English emanated from a radio there.

Oh, how I would love to master this skill.

The first time I saw an ox cart, it was a slight "culture shock." It was my first weekend here, and one drew up outside of the kitchen to deliver supplies.

Pictures!

Hello! I have the strong urge to act like the terribly cliche, overly enthusiastic traveler and post some greeting in the local language, demonstrating my profound lack of knowledge of that language. But I shan't. Because I'm like that. Well, and because the only phrase I know I learned today, and it means "Good morning." And it's 7:38 at night here... That and you all would want to know what the name of the dialect is... And I don't know how to spell it. :D I did get one of the boys, Lackson, to agree to help me learn some of the local dialect while I am here. 

Anyways, here are some pictures! (Assuming that I can get this to work. I've never tried posting pictures on a blog, and I am technologically illiterate.)

So IF these have uploaded... The first two when put together show the entire school. There are 72 kids here in the village (and almost all are enrolled in school), and there are... I think 34? students who come for school from the community. There are twenty kids in"my" Kindergarten class. Eleven of them are from the community. They are a handful but very sweet!

Update: one of the pictures is messing up the format, so you can see part of the school in the picture below. 

This is Mapalo. He is a day student. He wears this little worried expression--until he smiles. He was making faces, so I had to take this picture.

This is Mackley, the Kindergarten teacher. 

This is Isaac: he's in the preschool class. He is the most laid-back, smiliest preschooler I have ever met. 

This is Esther. This picture does not do her smile justice. Her smile is about three times as big in person. I wanted to capture her beautiful smile, but she wouldn't smile as big when I whipped out the camera. A lot of the kids will pose when I pull out the camera, so I had to tell Isaac (see picture above) to get back into his natural pose, because he started to straighten and grin, because he saw me coming with my camera. 

This is Patrick. He likes to play with my hair. I was kneeling next to him, when I felt a hand pulling on my hair. I turned, and he was laughing and rubbing my hair against his cheek. I have been asked: "Is that the hair you were born with?" Meaning, "Have you ever cut it?" And "Have you ever cut it short?"

This is Dalitso. He is in the Kindergarten class.

There is so much to write about, that I don't even know where to begin. The last few days have been quite full and amazing. I love it here. Even the spiders aren't bothering me as much. After the first night, I adjusted. (I slept with the lamp on the first night... Some of the kids found out about it and thus commenced the spider jokes. Haha.)

These kids will smile and laugh about anything and everything. One of the kindergartners, Esther, smiles bigger than any other person I have ever seen. She smiles with her entire mouth. And if she smiles for more than three seconds, she begins to giggle. I plan to post pictures of her tomorrow when I take them at the school.
The people here are so welcoming, friendly, and smiley, and I love them for it. They are so genuine. It's so refreshing, coming from the States. And when the kids sing, they SING. They know how to "rock the house." They also chant their lessons, LOUDLY. I love it.

I've hit it off with the kids I've met. A few of the boys invited me to join them Saturday morning to play baseball and football. It'll be awesome! Though... I can't run well in a skirt. They keep checking to make sure that I'm coming. And then one of the boys invited me to an all-boys' pj party. To which I replied, grinning, "Do I LOOK like a boy to you?" which set off a wave of giggles. They still tried to get me to come.

Today was my first day teaching. I've been scheduled for three classes a week at two different grade levels--kindergarten and Class 2. (They call them "class" instead of "grade.") I teach Reading for the kindergarteners (and help in the classroom for the other four hours) and Art and Reading for Class 2. I'm reading World History right now. After this week, there are two full weeks of school before their break, but school starts back in July, so I'll be able to teach again. (During their break, I will be busy hanging out with the kids and helping with G.A.M.E.S, which is like their V.B.S.) I'm very excited to have this opportunity. Lydia is on a similar schedule--she is teaching Art and reading for Class 1, and helping in the preschool class. We also attend devotions with the Rafiki staff at 7:30 in the morning, and we help in the library every day after school. I eat lunch and dinner at the common dining hall. The food is good. One of the common foods is this white... I don't quite know how to describe it, and I'm not sure how to spell the name. It's fluffy, very thick, and made of maize. It's mostly tasteless but good. They also have a green here that is very common called rape. (Yes, I know it sounds bad, but that's what it's called.) It's a bitter, good green.

The culture shock is surprisingly mild, even though it really is a completely different world here. I really don't have much jet lag, either. Really, the hardest thing to adjust to is having an entire table of kids stare at you as you eat. There are little things throughout the day that will surprise me or remind me that I'm no longer in the States. For example, I kinda forgot that the steering wheel is on the right side of the car. And when Irene went to pay for the airport parking, she was informed that they had no exact change. And the phrase "African time" is a reality over here. The village director got married last Saturday, and an hour-and-a-half into the wedding, he still had people coming in.

God has already been teaching me so much. He's been teaching me what things in life are really important--not the petty, infantile worries, like what people think of me and my personal appearance and my insecurities. I can't describe the wonderful, freeing feeling that accompanies this. I think as a teenager and technically an adult, I, and many others in my age range, are beset with these insecurities. Really, a lot of people are. It's very noticeable in America. And it defines us. And once something defines you, it begins to change you. And then it becomes the hamster wheel. Here, I am able to smash the wheel.
God is also teaching me not to take things like electricity for granted. We do have electricity at the village, but it goes out quite frequently. It usually only goes out for a few minutes, and there is a generator at the village, but it's still a reminder. I've also been doing devotions and praying much more again. It's so refreshing. God is teaching me to smile and laugh as I have never smiled and laughed before.