There
are so many ways this blog could go. Things learned, things loved, things
hated, things lost, things regained, perspectives changed, lives improved, love
endured…it seems so superficial and kind of impossible to try and reflect on
our 10 years here. Should I recount each
year and major milestones in our lives? The lowest and highest points of our
lives? The few times I have questioned,
why are we even in this 'God-forsaken' Place? Or, should I make a sweet video of pictures of
us (white) people surrounded by all the needy (black) people, giving credence to
the “white savior complex” that has been discussed in recent years? Or, maybe I should just paste a smile on my face,
fold my hands in my lap and quietly and humbly say the platitudes
of, “ oh, it’s not really so hard to give up and endure here, because we are just ‘praising and loving Jesus?’”
Here's the thing...I do love Jesus. I do want to praise
Him. But life in Zambia has not been easy. These 10 years have been the most grueling of
our lives. Not without joy, not without love
and not without happiness, BUT our patience, endurance and ultimately our faith
has been tried, it has been tested. The fact that we are still here in this
place and STILL loving each other even more, as a family IS a testimony
to the Grace of God.
Our
first vehicle here was a 1998 Toyota Prado. It was bought for a ridiculously high
amount partly because it was imported from South Africa by way of Tanzania, by
way of Japan. The vehicle is solid. It’s
like a tank. It has taken us everywhere in this country and has kept us safe
for 10 years. But, it has been through the wringer! It has been a great family vehicle because it
fit our whole family. Not necessarily comfortably, but there were 8 seatbelts; one of the 2 things we specified when
ordering the car. It had to have seatbelts AND air conditioning. The Prado has hauled our kids back and forth to school, friends houses, activities, parties, movies,
church and the stores. It has carried
many many suitcases – either visitors coming in or for ourselves going and
coming from the USA. It has gone to the markets, and held many live chickens.
MANY! The Prado has driven through
or around thousands and thousands of potholes on the road over the last 10
years, taking the hit each and every time. It has traveled on safari many times, with our
kids hanging out the window and sitting on top of the vehicle. It has also been
sideways in a ditch when the road was washing away in a rainstorm. We were all
standing outside in the rain while our vehicle was filling up with water. And,
onlookers were stopping by to take pictures of us all, standing there.
It
remained steady during our unexpected mountain climb over real rocks, sandpits,
a few boulders and actual burning logs. – Side note: We realized a few
villagers pulled logs into the path sometimes burning as well so that the car
would have to stop and then you’d have to find someone to help you move them
out of the way, of which you would then “appreciate (i.e. PAY) them”. What these villagers didn’t know is that my
husband would call his older sons out of the car to help him and they would
move it themselves! All of this was happening on
route to what was supposed to be a de-stressing and relaxing family camping
trip at Lake Tanganyika. The Prado has carried
supplies for countless projects around the house, for community projects as
well as off-roading in the bush to check out where we bought land and hope to
build our own house some day. But the Prado is showing its wear and is extremely
beat up. Dents and banged up places, holes and screws where siding has been
replaced, scrapes on the vehicle, alterations have been made. Zambia has been
rough on it, BUT it is still running. Still making it down the road.
THIS IS US
So many times the last few
years as I have looked at the state of the car, I see us. We just sold it this week so maybe that has me more reflective. It feels a bit like a milestone. Sometimes I am at a loss to
explain why we are still here, why we even WANT to be here when things can be
so incredibly hard. Family and friends
still don’t understand it. I don’t even understand it at times.
Is it that life here seems
MORE real?
Is it that once we stepped
away from our own self-absorbed lives, where the main goal was to hunker down
and protect our children and ourselves from the “World” at large and we
actually came up close and personal with real need and real human suffering
that we knew that we couldn’t go back?
-Certainly we could have had
that realization in America, many people do and make a great impact where they
are in their own communities, but for us that happened here, in Africa.
Is it because we already established
ourselves here and in an unexplainable way it feels like HOME?
Is it that the people we can
so easily help and impact here, have become a secondary purpose that gives more
meaning to our lives?
Is it the fact that our
children have grown up vastly different than they would have and we are glad
for that difference?
Is it the gratitude that is
expressed for simple things that remind us of why we should ourselves be more
grateful? Is that what pulls us?
Whenever
you meet another expat, there is an unspoken sizing up of each other based on
how many years they have lived here.
Judgments are made, and eligibility for friendships are determined all
based on the answer to that innocent question, “oh how long have you been here
in Zambia?” and “are you planning on staying?” Sometimes the person answering
estimates based on wanting it to be longer because you know there is more
street cred for that. Whether it’s the Peace Corp workers, Embassy employees or
Missionaries, there is generally a 3 year cycle. At some point in those 3 years
you think ok, I have made it, I can now understand this culture, get around the
city comfortably, and not feel taken advantage of every time. But, then
contracts end, “callings” on your life change, kids needs whether academically,
medically or spiritually all compel to going ‘home’ and returning to
America. Those that stay past the 10
year mark seem to really be the ones who have not just changed their address
but the entirety of their life. And those are the ones that you feel like have
really ‘made it. ‘
Sometimes
the newbies coming in don’t always understand what it was like living here
before development. (As I am certain I
don’t understand what it was like to live here 20 years ago) Before there was
availability of cheese and gelato. Before I could find good pasta or chocolate
chips. Long before Woolworth’s brought in their food stores, there was Food
Lover’s Market and the upscale Shoprite. The era of Shopping Malls being built
everywhere in the capital city didn’t exist. And the Chinese had yet to come in
and bring their China Malls, For the Love of Home and E Dargon (which we still
think is a misspelling of dragon?) stores where now you can buy most any cheapy
tacky thing that you want. Coffee shops were
rare, there was the one in town Coffee Talk on Cairo Road and Mimosa at
Arcades. That was all. And way long before anywhere had free Wi-Fi and the country had escalators!
In 10 years, Zambia has
developed.
But
for all the development, there still are injustices though. For all the coffee
shops there still are children living on the streets. For all the gelato and Chinese
products there is still corruption and theft on so many levels that actually
hurt the country. For the movie theaters that have been built and the 4G
networks that have come into the country, there are still hundreds of churches
teaching a false gospel that say if you just had more faith you wouldn’t be
sick, or if you just give us money then God will bless you with a new job or
healing.
And for all the roads that
have been built for the last 3 years all over this country, making it easier to
get from one place to another, there are still people that don’t know their HIV
status passing it on to others and there are still way too many children, women
and men dying because of poor medical care, lack of care or lack of money to
gain access to that care.
Maybe that in itself is the
answer.
10 years in and we are still
here.
Maybe that is reason
enough.
Maybe it’s the little things
and the big things all mixed up together.
-The singing of people
driving by packed into the back of a truck standing together
-The smile of the man
receiving an orange and a “God bless you” as he lays in his hospital bed
-The wide eyes of a child who
has not seen you before peeking out from behind the mother as you walk through
the compounds
-The ability of our children
to not only interact with others not at all like them, but at times to want to
help them
-The fact that one wants to
work overseas in the foreign service in part because of her experiences growing
up in Zambia, and that another wrote an essay for college applications titled,
“Had I stayed in America”, recounting how grateful he was for his childhood in
Africa.
-The woman at the market
whose face lights up when I attempt a small conversation in Nyanja.
-The random t-shirt someone
is wearing from the used clothing barrels that will remind you of something
from another time. This past week it was
a T-shirt from a Trace Adkins Concert. I was sitting frustrated in traffic and just looked over and started smiling.
-Driving out of town and
seeing the simplicity in the huts and clay buildings and the goats wandering
the side of the road which reminds you to just stop and take a breath
-The beauty of the Zambezi
River
-The elephants, hippos and
giraffes. Seeing them in their real environment never gets old
-The smell preceding the
first rain.
-And the first rain. It truly
is glorious. So much tension and heat and frustration and angst seem to build
up over months and that first real heavy rain comes and you feel so refreshed
you just soak it in.
We spent New Years Eve at a Safari lodge in Livingstone. The
clientele of the place mostly seemed to be everyone that has ever DREAMED of
coming to Africa. Jetting in to see Victoria Falls, going on an awesome
safari, maybe even doing a “village experience” where you can see how the
villagers live. And just like that, a dream can be realized and off they go
back to their lives in their own countries. Everything was new and exciting for them, and
when the DJ asked for song requests at the NYE party just after the stroke of
midnight and we entered a new decade, the song requested was “I bless the rains
down in Africa.” We looked around at the
Zambian staff and the few other African families also staying at the hotel and hesitated
but then jumped right in with the song, singing and dancing. It’s a very
emotionally stirring song, and to be there on the banks of the Zambezi River
where you can see the Mosi-O-Tunya, (the Smoke that Thunders, coming off the
Falls) you can't help but think all is right in the world and man, Africa is
surely an awesome place! It was fun to
get caught up in it for a moment but at the end of the day, for us it was just
another song on another night in a country that in a strange way has become
“ours”.
I traveled a lot to the USA
this past year. Each time I landed in Zambia, and stepped off the plane,
climbed down the stairs, walked across the tarmac, felt the heat slap me in the
face and smelled the dirt of the earth, I knew I was home.
