Zambia to Canada and Back

I’m in the airport in Lusaka, and I’m on my way to Canada for the holidays.

What am I leaving behind in Zambia?

I’m leaving my house and 11 new puppies my dog gave birth to on Tuesday. I’m leaving an un-weeded garden. I’m leaving garden beds that haven’t got soya or ground nut seeds in them and were supposed to have. I’m leaving the rain and the emerging vegetation that resembles the entire spectrum of the colour green. I’m leaving 56 kids and toddlers that are going to classes everyday taught by Bushimbe and Katamfya. I’m leaving my ex-pat friends and my Zambian friends. I’m leaving unfinished issues with leadership over here and I’m leaving a lot of love behind.

I’m only going for three weeks. You`d think it was three years.

What am I going towards in Canada?

I’m going to my family and my friends. I’m going to stand beside my best friend as she recites marriage vows to her husband. I’m going to cold and snow, and warm fires and piles of blankets on my childhood bed in my childhood bedroom. I’m going to live music and the chance at some live theatre and window shopping with my Mom. I’m going to coffee and hot showers and nights of endless amounts of belly aching laughter with the girls who are now ladies, that I grew up with.

What am I coming back to in three weeks?

I’m coming back to an organization that is MAYBE, just MAYBE now getting its feet off the ground. I’m coming back to two Canadian volunteers, a Japanese volunteer, a German volunteer, two American volunteers and a slew of Zambians that have believed in this thing longer than Kim and I have. I’m coming back to the peak of mango season and fresh maize and pumpkins, which I can whip into a fabulous soup. I’m coming back to a change.

We are expecting a tight year full of back to back volunteers from around the world; all coming to be a part of something that means something more. I want to take care of them when they`re in Zambia. I want to watch them fall in love with Kibombomene, the way Kim and I did. I want to see it all through their eyes. I need that.

I keep thinking about something Vance (one of our newest arrivals from Goderich Ontario) said to me a few nights back. He said that when he was teaching in Canada, he never knew what it was all for. He said that in Kibombomene, at SWSC, he knows now. He feels purpose and meaning. I think that this is what it`s all about. This unwritten sorta thing that can only be felt. It tells us that things can be better. It tells us that we can be a piece of making it better. It`s that hope. It`s the ambition that drives all opportunities to create more happiness and more love. It doesn’t have to be only felt in Kibombomene. It should be felt all over the world.

One of the greatest gifts that I can reflect on as my time in Zambia comes to a close for another year is this HOPE. It`s watching hope through other people`s new experiences. It`s seeing it when our students stand up and recite the alphabet for the first time all on their own. It`s seeing it in Vance as he remarks astonishingly about the beauty of the place that I sometimes unfortunately forget.

I am looking forward to going home to Canada and I`m looking forward to coming back to Zambia. I`m looking forward to living a life from here on in, that doesn`t forget how hope looks and feels and how it just is.

Plant and Paint

I’ve found a new way to handle life.

It involves a paint brush and some dirt. If I knew long ago, that all I had to do when things got tough, was surrender my thoughts to an unpainted wall or two, then I would have been a champion of life years ago.

Let’s get serious though. Being a champion at life, or trying to understand the challenges as they come at you like bugs in your windshield, is something I am still working on. I’m sure I will never get it all straight. However, for the time being, painting and planting are solving (or should I better say ‘delaying’) the tender issues of SWSC from my point of view.

I find ourselves at a crucial turning point over here in Kibombomene in terms of leadership. The people behind this organization, including me, need a readjustment or a refreshment or a rearrangement or something that involves being “re’d”. Maybe if we are “re’d” into something new than we will be able to keep moving forward positively. I feel so much pressure, because I feel like this is it. I won’t go into the details of what is happening over here. I won’t do that because I would be writing for days. It just seems though, that this current challenge will label us for the rest of our existence. Who are we and what did we start as SWSC? More importantly, who is that we are working for? Never mind all the nitty gritty details. I’m only sure that painting and planting are going to help me answer these questions.

If I paint and then I plant, then it seems easier to get through this. When painting, I can see progress. Although some of the progress is shared on my arms and legs, most of it gets on the wall. I can see that I am moving forward. It is simple. With one stroke here and another there, I am accomplishing something and boy does it feel good. When planting, I can feel growth. There is hope when you put something into the ground. Although not all of the seeds will take bloom, I can believe that most of them will. It is simple. With one seed here and another there, I am accomplishing something and boy does it feel good.

When I do these things, I am tricking my brain. I am letting it believe that I am getting some work done. If it weren’t for this, my brain would be overcome by the issues of SWSC. I don’t need that right now, because this new way to handle life includes being patient. I believe that after a few more painted walls then an answer will be revealed. I believe that after I plant those banana trees today then an answer will be revealed. Maybe it will happen somewhere in the midst of it all.

So, I urge you to paint a little and plant something with me. I think that if we are together on this, then we will come up with something that works for all of us. I can’t see that quite yet. When we do see it, then I believe what I know about the future of SWSC will come to life. That crucial turning point that I’m talking about involving our people over here, won’t seem so crucial because we will have made the right decision. We will have taken the right path.

Choose Better

I want to be able to choose right in my life. Is this the greatest human inner conflict? It’s the battle to want to be good and do good, and then fail miserably in attempt of doing so? It’s the battle to want love and give love, and then fail miserably in attempt of doing so?

SWSC is supposed to be better. It’s supposed to be better than the mistakes of the past. It is supposed to give opportunity to those who otherwise wouldn’t have that chance. It is supposed to make good decisions. These good decisions are supposed to be based on love for each other.

Lately I have been thinking a lot lately about how a good idea and true intentions can turn sourly. A President in Zambia may start his campaign with a full heart for the people. This would be a heart for change. There would be more schools and more hospitals and more jobs and less people suffering. Where though, does the problem begin? Somewhere along the line, the true intentions start to smell badly. Decisions get made from the wrong influence and at the end of the day the President has gone so far away from those original intentions, that he can’t find his way back to the honest goal.

I will die if this happens to SWSC. In the beginning 4 years ago, I would say that I wouldn’t want to know me, if one day I woke up and I was a member of something that became dishonest.

I’m terrified of being that President in Zambia, or that corporate leader, or that NGO Director, that wakes up one day and doesn’t know the difference between real good and the fake good. The fake good is the type of good that starts off good, but really isn’t because it is backed up by so many horrible excuses. It makes the wound deeper instead of heals.

What have I got to hold on to? There is only belief left. Christmas is next month and it is a great time to remember that I believe in something. Christmas may be one of those horrible excuses though, and I think it is better that I remember to believe today. The only choice is to believe that what you’re doing is entwined with goodness. It’s about being humble when I have made a mistake and letting others push me back onto a better path.

I do believe in this organization. I do believe after four years, that it is better than what is behind us. We can’t do this alone though. I’m asking you all to believe that this world can be better and should be better and that it’s not too late to be the real sort of good. The fake one doesn’t resolve.

This is What we NEED

Someone once advised me that I should work on my communication skills. He told me that I needed to be more active about telling the world EXACTLY what it is that SWSC needed. I've been here for almost 4 years now. I've known this friend for longer than that and when he came to Kibombomene in September, he told me that it wasn't until he arrived here that he had a better understanding of our needs.

Let me try to be clear today. Today I'm a little frustrated and a lot sad. Today, everything feels like a personal attack. Today, the non-existant health centre in this community hurts me. Today the lack of education and resources hurt me. Today all of the corruption and all of the lies and all of the greed, hurt me. Today, after 4 years I know I am a victim of all of the afore mentioned things, because I am a member of this community.

Today I will tell you what we need RIGHT NOW in Kibombomene. I'm not taking you on a guilt trip and it's not about trying to make you feel sorry for poor little Africa. It is simple about surrendering to who we are supposed to be as human beings. It is our duty. It is our right. It is an optionless choice that we MUST CARE FOR EACH OTHER.

What WE need is a health clinic. We need Doctors (note the plural, because one is not enough). We need nurses. We needs an endless supply of medicine. We need equipment and machines for testing and x-raying and whatever else. We need people who specialize in dentistry and in different diseases and etc, etc, etc. We need a big building. We need beds and other furniture. We need more staff to run the clinic.

We need all of this now because what we have, let me say what I HAVE, is a 17 year old Zambian sister who nearly lost her life last night while giving birth to her already dead baby girl. It happened on a dirt floor under a grass roof.

I don't care if it's the government or some other NGO or a private business; I don't care who it is that builds this thing, but we need to do it together. I understand that this sort of thing also happens in Canada. Babies die and mothers lose their lives, but it shouldn't be like this. It shouldn't happen like that, when the possibilities for improvement are right in front of us. It's not right.

We gotta love each other more than this.

Breakfast is Served

October is hot in Zambia. Every year I try to be better than the heat. Every year I try to force myself to do the things that I want to do throughout instant sweat. Instant sweat comes about when you're just lying in bed, surrendering to the afternoon heat and you are still sweating. A couple days ago, instant sweat beat me. So, I decided to take a 'sick day' which consisted of me stretched out on my bed waiting for the heat to pass. Since, I'm not very good at having 'sick days' and shutting off my brain to sleep, I opened up some of my old journals to have a gander. I opened up some of my old writing from 1999 and came across this little note:

'I pretend to know how it must feel to be starving, but I don't and I'll go on for the rest of my life eating like I could care less about children and families who haven't eaten in days. I "NEED" so much from this world but am too spolied to change the way a two year old in Africa will see tomorrow. The bottom line is WE NEED HELP. EVERYONE DOES'.

When I was 15, I didn't know I was going to be living in rural Zambia at 27. When I was 15 I had no idea that I would have started a breakfast program as part of an orgnization that I would be committing my full energy to. I had no idea. At 15 I knew that I wanted things. I wanted to have fun and I wanted a boyfriend I'm sure, and I wanted to play soccer. At 15 though, there was something inside of me that told me I had too much and that I was supposed to do something about that. I was supposed to be concerned about people in far off places, somewhere in Africa and I was supposed to understand their needs.

This is how the world works. The world is in need. In Africa, in North America; people around the world need things. They need food and education and health care and they need love. I need those things too. We are all in the same boat. I'm wondering if that's why SWSC can grow. It can grow because we're here as Canadians who may just be deemed spoiled, working with Zambians who may just be deemed poor. We are here living with them and we are serving the same needs that I expect to be met for myself.

With that said, SWSC is now serving up breakfast. It is expensive. It is costing us about $80 Canadian every week to feed just less than 50 toddlers and kids who make it to our classes every morning. They're coming from more than 2kn away and they're coming to learn the alphabet and write their names.

I figure, if there is NOTHING else that we do but feed a few kids a healthy breakfast, than we have succeeded. I feel good about this. I feel like my 15 year old self would have been happy if she knew this was going on. I guess the heat brings a little more than sweat after all.

Not Every Day is Sunday

Someone I live with, someone who has ended up being sort of like a teacher for me, gave me some very simple but helpful advice a little while back. He told me that ‘not every day is Sunday’. I laughed in his face when he said this, because to be perfectly honest, I thought it was stupid. Apart from accepting the obvious, that yes indeed, not every day is Sunday; I felt like he was patronizing me by informing me of something more appropriately geared for a toddler. He’s younger than me, so I had to fight the pompous urge to put him in his place by reminding him of that. After all, I’m older with more life experience and pride tells me that I’m way above taking advice from barely 20 year olds.

Because I sometimes like to refer to myself as a mature adult, I thought I’d give him about 20 seconds to infer more meaningful wisdom. After all, today is Tuesday, right? Yesterday was Monday, wasn’t it? That makes tomorrow Wednesday or something like that and therefore I am able to conclude (thanks to my many bright years in Canadian Public Schools) that Sunday only comes around once in a while.

Since I live with my friend, I know that sometimes he does his washing on Sundays. On some Sundays he helps me do some landscaping around the house (also known as pulling out grass from dirt). We usually have nshima for dinner and we are all in bed sometime around 9:00PM. When he was telling me that ‘not every day is Sunday’, I was trying to imagine what he found so horrible about Sundays at our place. There’s never ice cream for dessert on Sundays or a mid-day drive through the park. There is walking around barefoot and the thrill of clean hands for about 30 minutes while I wash my clothes next to the stream. I guess it’s not really the sort of thing that many people would be envious of. However, there he was, sitting across from me, looking into my eyes, imparting this intelligent piece of information to me...and then I got it.

Not every day is Sunday.

It’s not every day that I wake up and feel like my involvement in this project is right. I sometimes feel like I have made a mistake or two. It’s not every day that the relationships between the people who are involved in this organization are on perfect terms. We disagree from time to time. It’s not every day that we receive a donation for $5,000. Sometimes our account narrows in on zero. It’s not every day that the world is going to validate that what we’ve attempted to do over here in Zambia is right. There are some who have the courage to tell us that we’re wrong. These days are always worse than they need to be, because at the close of them, I realize I’ve been given the opportunity to reconsider some of the decisions we have made. These bad days, end up being helpful in the end.

The most honest thing about Sundays is that when they’re good, they always promise to be good. When Sundays are bad, they always promise to be bad. They pass though , these Sundays. It has something to do with science and the way the sun works its way around us. Some brilliant group of people a long time ago, realized that it was best to have Sundays finish. It’s only 24 hours and then it’s a moment of the past. At times, it`s a truth that I am stubborn enough not to believe. Sometimes I let the disasters of some Sundays drag on into Monday. I have a difficult time accepting that, what is done is done. I want to fix it and I need it to better immediately.

I’m wondering if, after all, I’m not too old for `stupid` advice. It may be the thing that is going to help me and this organization to grow. If we dwell on the past, if we try to fix too many of the mistakes, than we will get lost. There are so many Sundays that have finished before us, and they don’t matter because we can’t do anything about them. It`s the Sundays in front of us that we can do something about. In fact, I have 6 days to think about my next Sunday. I have 6 days to focus on a better Sunday. That, I know I can do. Thank goodness that not every day is Sunday.

ME ME ME Disease

The ‘what about me’ disease has recently been attacking my immune system. It’s one of my greatest weaknesses. I can sense it creeping into my skin from kilometres away, yet my body still acts surprised when it starts to invade my cells. It repulses me. This self centred, self absorbed illness that works by convincing me that everyone in the world is against me. The symptoms are not feeling appreciated, and feeling like I have been taken advantage of, and feeling like everything you do for everyone else has been forgotten. No one notices and no one cares when you sweat and no one cares when you sacrifice. My problem lies in not admitting that I have the disease. I like to ignore it. I like to pretend that it’s impossible for me to feel this way. It’s a disgusting disease anyways, and my pride tells me that I should be the exception. My pride tells me that by some miracle, when I was born, my inner make-up, and mine only, was void of any self pity. WRONG!

I hate this disease, because I am one of those humans that wear their heart on their sleeve. You know those people, right? I think we’re the hardest people to deal with in the world, because our feelings are impossible to hide. I try with all my might to swallow the ‘what about me’ disease along with some sort of righteous pain killer; but I am never successful. A pain killer is only a mask, and after its effects fade away, I am still left feeling like the world isn’t noticing ME, ME, ME. There’s my heart, right out there for everyone to see, consumed by self absorption. The worst part is that the ‘what about me’ disease is contagious. It likes to feast on people who are in good moods. It likes to bring those people down as well and it isn’t satisfied until everyone notices that ME ME ME is suffering and that ME ME ME needs some attention.

Horrible.

What finally eradicates the disease from my body is realizing that people do appreciate me, and they do love me, and they do want to take care of me. The disease feels a lot of shame when this is realized. It sort of evaporates slowly out of my body with its head down, understanding that love is always greater. That’s the kicker. Love and the disease are worst enemies. It’s like watching the same war movie over and over again. You know ahead of time that the good guys are going to win, but you sit through two hours anyways, waiting to be convinced in the final scene.

What I wil do, because everyone knows that life just moves on, is pick myself up right now. I will try to slap the ‘what about me’ disease in the face. I will tell it to go take a hike. There are more important things to do today and I don’t need the disease in my way. Here I go, and by the way, thanks for listening and reminding me that ‘what about me’ is only a moment or two that is always conquered by something so much more worth it; love.