Look Listen Learn

world traveller - dancer - human rights advocacy

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Look at all these clothes! Each item either part of a clothing swap to raise awareness about the fast fashion industry and clothing consumerism, or purchased at a local or non profit thrift shop. #livingsustainablystartswithclothes remember to donate to my page to sponsor me and VIDEA https://videa.securesweet.com/participantpage.asp?fundid=1845&uid=3588&role=1

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The Peaceful Fashionista: Trend Defier for VIDEA’s Annual Global Solidarity Challenge

It’s another trip around the sun for participants in the Global Solidarity Challenge, which means it’s that time of year again. Do you remember last year, when I was living in Zambia and sending folks messages about raising funds and awareness on the global poverty line by attempting to live on 1.90 USD a day? I raised roughly 400 dollars toward VIDEA, the Human-Rights based organization I went to Zambia with on a successful internship and which I now am a proud Board Member. These funds have helped contribute to working closely with our partners in Eastern and Southern Africa as well as to uplift both Aboriginal and Settler young people in Canada to understand how to work from the heart, taking a Human-Rights based approach to community and international development. I love VIDEA, I am fiercely proud of the work we do, and our teams this year for the annual Global Solidarity Challenge (GSC) are making strides to inspire some awareness and fundraising for a plethora of issues, most of which feature consumerism, waste, and globalization.

This year I am happy to be part of Trend Defiers, the team working to create awareness around clothing consumerism and the fashion industry. Those of you who know me well know I am passionate about clothing and fashion, know I love to shop and know I cycle through a high-turnover in my wardrobe. Fashion has always been one of my primary forms of expression. Fashion has primarily been a source of happiness in my life- however, what about the less fashionable side of the clothing industry? What about slave labour or the poor working conditions of factory workers around the globe? What about low-quality fabric and merchandise, forcing consumers into the cycle of constantly buying? What about low self-esteem or eating disorders associated with body image and the beauty standards of the fashion industry? What about the damage done to our earth from the processes to create the clothing we wear, and the waste produced when we are done with our cheap clothes? What about the use of animals for clothing products and by-products? I have at times been known to boycott brands and move away from buying first-hand, but that has only ever been a temporary pursuit and pales in comparison to the impressive amount of clothing I have unconsciously purchased, warn, altered, become bored of, and eventually given away with no thought of where it ends up. 

I chose to be part of the GSC Trend Defiers team to help hold myself accountable in making mindful decisions about the relationship and actions I have with clothing, and to help raise funds for the important work VIDEA does. This GSC will be an interesting one, as each day, I am unsure what “challenge” I can come up with about resisting the detriment the fashion industry causes. Aside from sticking to the model of “reduce, reuse, recycle” I can’t think of many ways to engage in the challenge, but let’s get some creative waves flowing, and see what else can be used as a challenge for solidarity. Suffice it to say, I think this challenge will be a longer one for me, one where I pursue some real-life changes on my quest to becoming a Peaceful Fashionista.

For awhile now, I have pondered my actions and contributions to the more negative side of consumerism and the world of fashion, and am wondering how I can be a more conscious human being while still looking and feeling fly (oxymoronic statement?). A short while ago, I attended Victoria’s second annual Fashion Week and just loved it. There in support of a friend, and one of Victoria’s newest and most talented designers, I realized that fashion is about quality, not quantity. Minimalism in the face of fashion is a strong response to an industry which loves to shove choice upon choice in peoples faces. A few well-made items which correspond to all types of events both rare and daily are likely enough in my closet, as oppose to possessing hundreds of garments I may never wear, bought impulsively while supporting cheap labour. Shortly after the VFW show, I bought two really excellent pieces from my friend, feeling good as a proud owner of two original street-wear items from a local artist, plus I supported him and his family in the process. As well, yesterday I was in one of those teenage stores in the mall- drawn in because of the 5$ sale racks of clothes so cheap they should be worn by Barbie- and I saw a great shirt I liked. But then I reminded myself of Trend Defiers and making more mindful decisions. I looked at the Baywatch shirt on the rack, and the 10 identical ones right behind it, and I thought, what could possibly be in here that I can’t find more unique in a second-hand non-profit, or a local vintage store? I harnessed my willpower and walked out without buying anything, and felt a growing sense of freedom as I made a conscious choice to resist, saved some money and practiced the first part of my challenge: reducing.

I think it is important to be said, my goal is not to eradicate buying completely. I still want to support the local economy and support brands I really believe in. To be honest, there are a few items I would prefer to purchase first-hand (underwear and shoes are a good place to draw the line for example). But I am also excited to engage in holding myself accountable for the choices I make moving forward and to be a mindful consumer on my journey to becoming the Peaceful Fashionista. So when I’m not engaged in the act of reducing, you can either find me purchasing some thoughtfully sourced kicks… or you can catch me at the thrift store, how bow dat?

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To Have Access and Be Encouraged

As a student of Child and Youth Care and newly entering my career as a child and youth worker in Canada, I’m reflecting on what I, as Aja, the young adult I’ve grown into, can bring to the children and youth of today. My experiences as a child and youth, my choices which have brought me to the place and person I am now, and the attitude I choose to have on life, death and everything in between. All this plays into the type of worker I want to be, the type of inspiration I hope to achieve, and the mark I hope to leave behind after I’m done my time on this earth.

This, however, all easier said than done. There is the system… there is the system. There is the day-to-day youth work, encompassing real and tangible short-term assistance with mental health, housing and reconnecting with family. Though these are integral pieces to the survival of kids and their ability to move forward in a good way, I hear they are at times the most challenging aspect of work for professional helpers. Perhaps because it is in these areas we work most closely with the system: the laws and bodies with which we coordinate to provide supports and assistance to children, youth and their families. Perhaps the disappointing reality of the system reminds us of the shameful truth that Child and Youth Care in Canada has the darkest history I can imagine. It serves to be said there are students and workers dedicated to undue those damages and be apart of the shift toward socially just laws, policies and mentalities. Yes, it is important to acknowledge there is good work being done, and yes, it is important to do that while honouring the trauma of past practices.

But I digress. I’ve been interested lately in other avenues of expertise child and youth care workers move within. We all work with the system, we all want to attempt to make it better. And we all, I imagine, strive to let our work reflect why we chose the profession in the first place. I want to be a worker who strives to provide children and youth with access to arts, access to culture; access to education and to freedom of expression we are privileged to in Canada. I want to be a worker who strives for the rights of the child to play, to know their biological families and to learn through risk-taking and making mistakes in a safe, encouraging environment.  

These wants are my drive, and stem from reflections of my own past. Having just moved into my new apartment, among the cacophony of boxes and treasures I found a photo booth series of myself as a pre-teen. 11-year old Aja. In one shot, I begin to smile and then, hit with embarrassment from someone close to me saying I don’t look good, the next pictures are of me completely shut down, no smile to be seen, having no idea how to express myself and having no confidence to even try. I always wanted to be a dancer, and even though I have found a way to do that through belly dance as an adult, I had no access to modern dance or ballet as a young person. Perhaps it was my inability to stick with an interest once I found it, perhaps it was because my parents couldn’t afford it even though they often tried, perhaps it was because I had people tell me I didn’t have the body of a dancer (something which I now know was not only untrue but which completely shattered what confidence I had to try). They say a picture is worth a thousand words, to me, this one spoke volumes.

Finding expression and talents as an adult has me feeling as though I’ve come full circle and have arrived at a new place of confidence and self-assuredness. In this new incarnation, I often find myself out for a run saying to myself: “teenage Aja is back and thriving!”. It is because I’m giving myself access to try things, I am pushing myself to do so and I am flourishing as I see the results of my efforts. Maybe all I needed back then as a young person was access and encouragement. Perhaps part of why I chose Child and Youth Care as a profession is to ease access to art, movement and expression for young people today. Perhaps there are some young people just needing so much to be encouraged and uplifted, and to be allowed the space to try something even if just to prove to themselves that they’ve tried. And where there is even one young person needing to express themselves but finding it impossible to do so, that is where I want to be.

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I Have Come, but I Have Gone

Similar to the lateness of my second to last post, I hit a wall of communicating my experience over the last month and a half. First I was getting ready to leave Zambia, prioritizing my last memory-making experiences with my boyfriend, then I was arriving back to Canada, trying to pick up the pieces of my former life. Perhaps there is a disconnect there, in the assumption that I can pick up pieces of my former life. Or perhaps that is the goal, picking up those pieces that I loved, pieces that I truly want to incorporate alongside my newfound priorities. Either way, something has changed, I have changed and others around me have grown as well. Six months isn’t very long, but it’s long enough for life to happen. I have come home to loved ones I am proud to know. I have come home to a place where eating well, exercising and walking everywhere within the city is possible. I have come home to a place with a surplus of choices. Yet I have gone from somewhere where things of a different sort were common priorities. I have left behind something integral to my happiness that I don’t want to forget about. It’s the thing I’d like most to incorporate into my life here. 

Zambia is somewhere much like the west in some ways. People want to live happily, they go to work, they host dinner parties, their children go to school, they do fun things on the weekend. Yet there is a difference. There is so much less choice. And having been somewhere for 6 months where I managed to live well on so much less choice, I now see something strange in all the choices we have here in Canada. Aside from it being such a fun way to live: going out to dinner (which restaurant?), going to the grocery store (which one?) or having coffee (which beverage and which bean from which part of the world?), I can also see the aspects of Canadian society that are so very high anxiety, and so very demanding of pressure. Zambia presents its social and infrastructural problems, but as I’ve said in other posts, they really are just trying to kick it. They aren’t constantly bombarded with choices, demands for production and result and no one’s trying to have the coolest gadgets (no, Zambians are just cool enough by nature). I feel as though I walked off the plane to Canada into a melting pot of pressure and angst. And I’d like to participate in my culture, I actually really like it here, but I don’t want to welcome those high anxiety aspects back into my life. I don’t want to put pressure on myself to do well, or to make myself worry that I’m not good enough. I find that attitude painful: that I’m not good enough. We, as westerners, are so worried and so so hard on ourselves. We feel so guilty when we make the wrong “choice” in the surplus of choices we are inundated with. And so many people around us are doing the same, while feeling the same, it’s as if it’s almost expected at this point.

If living in Zambia has taught me anything, it’s to live more gently. To be more gentle with myself and others, to slow my roll as I go about my day, and to be really solid in that as a priority. And yes, I believe it’s possible to still work hard on your goals while being gentle. Someone wise I spoke to recently said they decided to change their attitude around hard work and productivity. Their priority now is to let go of the outcome, even if they work hard to achieve that outcome. In other words, they’ve let go of the product while still enjoying the process of creating it, and more importantly, they’re feeling solid in that. This attitude is something so very similar to what I felt was the norm in Zambia. It’s these aspects of being gentle with myself and those around me that I’m most confident I’ll try to incorporate into my former life now that I’m back here.

Perhaps it’s more than that though. Instead, I think I feel more solid when I say that I’ll incorporate aspects of my former life into what is already my new normal. Now the task is to fit already positive pieces of my old life into my new way of being. I have come home to somewhere which may present its challenges to me at times, but I have gone from somewhere which has really taught me allot.

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Curriculum Vitae

I’ve been working extremely hard on my resume over the last while. It’s been a challenge, but I’m finally done.

Work Experience

1993 - Chorus Bear, beginner ballet recital

1997 – 3rd grade competitor, National French Immersion Speech Competition: Oratoire

2004 – Leader of the Day, Camp Thunderbird Leadership Development 1

2012 – Stand in Ice Cream Vendor, Victoria Inner Harbour

Awards and Achievements

2001 – 3rd place, Track and Field 100 m sprint

2010/11 – Virtuoso kazoo player

2012 – Certificate, Guinness Storehouse “To Pour a Perfect Pint of Guinness” certification program

2015 – 2nd place, Caffe Fantastico Customer Service Olympics

2016 – Candy Crush Soda Saga, high score of 185 000 without activating the Lollipop Hammer

2016 – Virtual Trophy for VIDEA’s “first newcomer out of the gate” category

Films Starred In

Jessica Winters production of The Rocking Chair, Character: Sister to Marie Jenkins

Jessica Winters production of Alladin, Character: Jasmin

Film Studies production of The Tuskin Raven, Character: The Detective

Keilah Williams Production of The Hand, Character: Girl

Clubs and Associations

1997/98 - Wicca Coven, Quadra Elementary School

Current Interests

The Mysticism Revival Movement, film trivia, Viking wear, aerobics, impersonations  

Aspiring Hobbies

Slight-of-hand, acrobatics, small aircraft aviator

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What Exactly Happened Here?

I’ve neglected to write over the past month.  There have been stops and starts on my end but nothing that felt genuine, nothing that felt as if it was useful and to the point of my blog.  Nothing that felt as if it was a proper summation of my experiences over the last four or five weeks.  I didn’t know how to express the pressure of making extra memories as the sieve of time quickly dries up here. I was too busy just experiencing this last month. And in just 4 short weeks I’ll be back on Canadian soil.  How do I feel about that? I will kiss the very grime of that Canadian soil if it means seeing my friends and family again. Aside from that, there’s an array of little things I’m looking forward to.  Namely, to wear shorts in public, to have nearly perpetually clean feet, to have my jokes and impressions be understood by most people around me, and to make ice cubes (I said “little things”!). And of course there are the things I will feel strange about not being able to incorporate into my daily Canadian life.  How will I talk Zambian-style English to people in Victoria when if taken out of context they’ll just think I’m being “racist”?  How will I explain that Zambians want me to talk like that, that going up to my girls and yelling “my WOmaaan!” while I lovingly shake all of their hands is commonplace to me now?  How will I make people realize I’m not making fun of any one culture when asked for directions to my house and I say “it’s just somewhere… that side. You must see where I stay.”? I know they won’t understand, and it’s those little things, those wonderful Zambian-isms that have become my normal here that I am leaving behind and that I will miss.

How to remedy this? Enter, my roommate/colleague Emerant. She knows that she’ll be the victim of many late-night whatsapp voice messages by me after our return to Canada, and I will be hers (bring it on Em). We’ve been through so much together on this internship, especially around our 3-month mark when we collectively survived a kidney infection thought to have been malaria at first, a bad fall accompanied by a near-fractured knee-cap, a house flood, an unsettling breakdown in a personal relationship, severe food poisoning, lethargy due to lack of variety in diet and feelings of homesickness. Our work experience in-country has been mostly about relationship-building, self-growth and cross-cultural competence and lacked more tangible skills like grant writing or starting an NGO (plenty of time for that with proper training). You’d be surprised what becomes a priority in Chipata.  Things are different here. Interests of a different nature take over and I can say that there’s a lot I’m proud of on this internship. We’ve come up with great ideas, such as my website I hope to launch one day called Seen in the Background of where extra’s get a chance to be in the limelight again while we talk about what they’re up to now: “you may remember her from the background of ____, and now she owns her own magazine in Cleveland and has a new car!” or “Sean was seen in the background of ____. Now he’s a DJ in Germany and is celebrating his 40th birthday this Thursday!”. Screw updates on famous people, what about the background artists?

We’ve also been working on an independent film called Namaste to be youtube streamed this coming fall. A five-minute long journey of our experiences in Zambia, the film largely features our couch-dog Wency, we do our own stunts and the acapella soundtrack is performed by the film-makers themselves. (There’s been rumors Wency could be the runner up for best actor and if you have to ask what a “couch dog” is you’ve clearly never had one. I myself was the recipient of an award a short time ago. I even won a trophy… it was virtual).  We’ve also thought deeply about lots of things, such as what happened to the Loreena McKennit’s of the world? There’s no ethereal concert harpists who want to make songs about King Arthur (that album was SO well produced, our moms were right!). Everyone’s trying to be cool now, but somewhere since the early 2000’s and now, we forgot something: NO ONE IS COOL. This has further affirmed how much I just want to kick it. Who cares what I wear, I just want to do me. Who cares what I listen to, I just want to feel free. Who cares if I answer your texts right away, it doesn’t have to mean I’m eager to date you, it just means I happened to be near my phone and it was incredibly easy to press the buttons. Relax!

Suffice it to say, our time has been used largely for creativity, and it’s been great. The other day Em taught me how to spin a pen, and I taught her how to shuffle a deck of cards. Then there are the bigger things, she’s taught herself Spanish, I’ve progressed extensively at pliers and have more stamina and agility than ever before. Not to mention the learning I’ve experienced about Child and Youth Care in a cross-cultural context and the opportunity to see how an underfunded gender-based violence organization is run in sub-Saharan Africa.  It’s been incredible. And I’m grateful. This post wasn’t supposed to be a complaint of my time here and how this work experience has gone.  But the tone of it is true to our actual experience here.  It’s been hard, but mostly it’s been really funny.  We’re still making memories and trying to spend as much time with our friends here.  See as much natural beauty as we can in the hills of Eastern Province and just live, really live. Because life is of value, humour is of value and when it’s time to check out of this world, no ones going to care whether or not I was cool.  They just want to know that I was me.

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The innovative social worker at the YWCA's shelter has taken it upon herself to start a garden. She uses her own money to do this, there are not enough funds in the shelter budget. She has never started a garden before this but so far it's a huge success!

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Students work extremely hard in secondary school in Zambia. Like university in North America, students must maintain at least a B average in order to pass.

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The Value of Being Human

The World Bank estimates that the global poverty line is at $1.90 USD a day.  Yet, in a rather socially just nation such as Canada, on average women earn 72% of what men earn.  Looking at the gender pay-gap, it is no wonder that most of the worlds women are the poorest of people even though most of the worlds food and most of the worlds water is cultivated by women.  In part to raise funds for VIDEA, the organization I represent, in part to raise awareness about gender inequality, my roommate and colleague and I spent a week participating in VIDEA’s annual Global Solidarity Challenge.  We chose to highlight the gender pay-gap by spending our GSC week living on 13 Zambian Kwacha a day, the equivalent of $1.30 USD, what we calculated the worlds women live on if they were getting 72% of what their male counterparts are forced to live on.  This week saw its challenges in terms of simply not being able to do and eat many of the things I normally would, however it became more than that. It became a week of reflection on quality of life, access to happiness, and ones’ experience of value and meaning.

The following paragraph is to highlight the daily challenges of living on 13 Zambian Kwacha a day.  As this is the way many females are forced to live, it is no wonder all clothes are washed by hand, everything is made from scratch, and community members are relied on for extra help, such as child-minding, trading of goods, and household help. If they want to feed their family beans with nshima, the maize-based staple food of Zambia, they have to save the extra 30K to buy them dried in bulk and then prepare them.  They would have to already have invested in the maize meal to make nshima, salt and cooking oil to prepare any lunch or dinner. If they want chicken as extra protein for one night of the week they would have to save the extra 30K for a live chicken.  Meat here is rare and is generally killed and prepared by the one cooking, instead of bought packaged from the grocery store.  If one wants to make breakfast every morning for their family, they would have already saved the extra money to buy the flour the week before and would have to rise early to bake the bread or fry the fritters.  Or for 5 K every 2 days they could prepare sweet potatoes, but living on only 13 K a day, it is no wonder many Zambian households go without breakfast.  This means children attend school on empty stomachs, and the first hours of the morning spent cleaning (a common way for women to start their day here) are done without the sustenance of breakfast. To add to the challenges, every week one would have to budget for emergencies such as medicine for children if they are sick and would have to factor in any missing wages from work needed to stay home with that sick child. Then there is the water bill, electricity and extra wages to enjoy some quality time with friends and family. In order to save money, it would be ideal for one to have a garden or keep chickens… provided they have the yard space and start-up capital.  It would be ideal for one to have the know-how to make everything from scratch… provided they are able bodied enough to handle that much physical work. It is no wonder most women I’ve met in Zambia are innovative, skillful and resourceful. They must be if they want to live their lives the way we all do, with comfort and freedom to enjoy time with loved ones.  When just the acquisition of food on a consistent basis is a daily challenge it is hard to imagine there are other goals for women who live on the equivalent of $1.30 a day.  However, I strongly believe there are other things we need as humans to lead peaceful, happy lives.  And women living in poverty are no exception. We as humans value ourselves, and value our lives.

When it comes to the charity-driven mentality, westerners are often surprised to hear that people in the developing world want things besides food. As humans, we need food to keep us alive, and yes, food security is important in order for nations to be healthy and move forward in a good way.  But there are things more important to the experience of being human such as the aspiration in life to be happy.  It may not be as immediate of a necessity next to food and shelter, but it is something that is paramount when you consider how we function as creative, intelligent beings.  Access to education, access to music and family events, to artwork and the ability to experience nature is as important as having access to soap, clean drinking water, or weather-permitting clothing.  They all sound like luxury items, but they’re not. Soap to clean ones’ body or lotion to heal their cracked skin from the harsh, dry season may become a luxury item next to food, but they are a necessity to human dignity and ones’ ability to experience individuality. In Banksy’s book Wall and Piece, he tells the story of Jews in a concentration camp who are mistakenly given a donation box with many tubes of lipstick. The lipstick becomes a higher commodity than bread and eventually food and blankets are traded just to be able to own a tube of lipstick. Banksy believes this speaks to peoples innate need to do more than just survive.  We never just want to survive.  We want to thrive.  We want to be a human being, who loves, who has an identity, who is recognized as an individual of value by those we share a life with.  

Working out at The Shelter has been another avenue for me to observe the value of being human.  Day in and day out we eat the same 2 meals, and often go without breakfast.  The social worker here says this is bad for humans as humans need more variety in their daily life in order to be happy.  How strange that when I was a kid I thought the key to charity was to “give” people food.  Things are never that simple.  To put myself in her mindset, what is the same meal every day if I have no access to friends because my mother can’t afford to bribe teachers to send me to primary school? What is being able to provide food for my family when I can’t even afford to wash myself? If anything, my time here in Zambia so far has taught me that people don’t want handouts, they want recognition.  Like anyone, they want access to laughter and a sense of belonging along with sustainability and agency. Like Banksy’s belief in human individuality, I believe having access to joy and expression is a human right and is as integral to our daily survival as food. Though money can’t buy you happiness, it can sure create space for life to be lived.

Suffice it to say, the value of being human is much more than 13 Zambian Kwacha a day.

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The Resilient Child

As adults we often choose to ignore what children are able to understand, cope with or accomplish.  We like to forget that at times they may have a more creative solution to the problems placed on them by adults.  And collectively, adults have rarely, if ever, informed children of their rights.  At times when I read through Maureen Cech’s book Interventions with Children and Youth in Canada, a book that has become my favourite next to Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s eloquent autobiography Infidel, and Markus Zusac’s novel The Book Thief, I feel the pangs of memory as I recount my own experiences as a child and youth.  Perhaps deemed an inappropriate practice, but I believe at times it is useful to study our own past in order to deepen understanding in our field of study or profession.  Newly an adult, I can look back on my youth and forgive myself for the awkward communication, the eagerness to belong and the vulnerability I felt when rejected or misunderstood.  I can instead look to that young person and say “I was resilient, it wasn’t always easy, and look what I built”.  You can’t see the grief of orphans.  They don’t wear it like a scar.  But there is a place where they draw their strength.  Though it’s a place of loss, and loneliness, it’s also a place of unfaltering love and a commitment to finding lasting connections with others. I was orphaned as a teenager. Being enveloped by the supportive arms of many friends and family made this easier but it’s not until now, looking back on this that I know that this was probably the single most defining thing about me and will inform learning throughout the course of my life.  I have observed that grief of this magnitude changes throughout the lifespan, and is also experienced differently by members of the same family, making it a personal journey through a shared hardship. This experience has informed my passion for the rights of the child and has directly contributed to my decision to enter Child and Youth Care.  In my current job role this week in Zambia, I am working as somewhat of an assistant manager at the YWCA’s Children in Crisis Centre, or what we at the Y just call The Shelter.  I have been out here for a few days most every week since coming to Chipata and have been slowly building a relationship with the girls and the regular social worker. This week, in her absence for training in Lusaka, I am the sole caregiver at The Shelter.  The time spent here this week has me reflecting on children’s rights, about their lived experiences, about their learning journey through hardships, and mostly, about their resilience.

“The child” is the extremely vulnerable citizen at the mercy of the decisions and will of adults.  They have rarely been made aware they are people with a valid identity and place in society, and they have likely never been made aware of their rights.  I believe most people in the world still view children as incomplete people, not to be taken seriously until they reach adulthood.  In Canada, as in many western societies, we are very child-focused, however this in no way implies that our children are automatically better off than their less-privileged counterparts.  Corporal punishment, prescription drugs to manage behaviour, and forced attendance at a school which may inhibit the child’s potential are all legal in Canada to this day.  Reflecting on Infidel, The Book Thief, and Cech’s text at first makes me think they are different as night and day.  But look closer and they share a common theme.  They are all about the resiliency in which children choose to move through the hardships placed on them when their rights are systematically stripped from them by adults.  In Infidel we see Hirsi Ali growing up in 4 completely different cultures and political systems.  She questions the world around her and yet is told not to, because she is a female, and because the answers are in the Quran.  She is made to obey, to resign her life, identity and ideas, yet she is fiercely honest and never stops seeking answers which bring her closer to what she believes is truth.  In The Book Thief we see Liesl seek solace in her passion for books by taking matters into her own hands through stealing.  Thankfully the author chose not to make this girls story one of sexual awakening, like most coming-of-age tales centering females.  Instead she is a complex person who is learning.  She loves her friends fiercely, she plays soccer, she swears, she laughs, she steals.  In Interventions with Children and Youth in Canada Cech writes that there are strengths in what is usually seen as a “deficit”: the teenage girl who skips school is seen as lazy or ungrateful for her access to education, yet when she’s not at school she’s engaging in meaningful activities such as street art, relationship building and learning to navigate the city on her own.  The 7-year-old boy who can’t sit still in class is labeled with Attention Deficit Disorder but the teacher who makes small children sit still for hours on a sunny day isn’t strapped with the same life-long label.  The group of racialized kids walking in a suburban neighbourhood become a “gang” while the group of 65-year-old white ladies become a “walking group”.  Then there are the children and youth at The Shelter.

First and foremost, it must be said that The Shelter is a place of healing and safety.  And it is extremely useful to the young people who find themselves here.  What it lacks in funding to implement successful programs (a result of severe under-funding and ill distribution of funds from the national YWCA), it makes up for in comfort and consistency.  It is even peaceful.  Spacious, clean rooms, windows on all sides, and two verandas overlooking the expansive yard.  But there are long days spent without adequate food.  And there are long nights spent when there is no power or water.  A friend of mine heard that the Spanish equate boredom with “a day spent without bread”.  Sometimes that is life at The Shelter.  Scarce food, and even more scarce variety in what we eat day-to-day.

Capenta and beans, capenta and beans, relish, Nshima, capenta and beans.

But there is always work to be done.  The regular social worker, innovative, supportive and entertaining, has the clients keeping busy alternating between chores and relaxation.  She just does the best she can with the structures she is forced to work in.  But her efforts are useful because they are consistent.  Youth shelters the world over may be places of healing and safety, but they are also places of grief, loneliness, frustration and a last resort to a dire situation.  It takes the social worker who is consistent with a healthy routine to make these places a success.  As a westerner who will eventually have to say goodbye to this place and goodbye to these children and youth, it is sometimes hard for me to see the quality of daily life at The Shelter.  After all, when all’s said and done, I get to go home to my Chipata apartment when I’m done here, and at the end of my 6 months, I get to go home to my sister and friends and won’t get to visit the young people at The Shelter at all.  My experience of coming and going is unique, as not even the regular social worker gets to go home at the end of her day or work week.  The children and youth here may not even get to go home at all.  At least not when they would like.  It is often surprising for westerners to hear that most kids in the foster care system in Canada, just like most of the young people here at The Shelter, would like to go home.  Home, even if it is a dangerous place, has comforts that are irreplaceable: familiar food, at least one loving family member, familiar clothes and furniture, a loved pet, photographs of happy times, or younger siblings.  Like any child taken out of their home, these children replace familiarity with homesickness while replacing abuse with safety.  It’s not easy.  The resilient child is truly incredible.  Let them enter.  Now applaud.

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Teach me to Chill

Get up. Walk around. Find something to do.  Even if you can’t find anything to do at least make it look like you have something to do, especially if you think someone is watching.  At least make it sound like you are busy and doing cool new things all the time, especially if you are trying to impress someone, most likely a semi-stranger.  This is how we do it in modern day Canada.  This is what I’ve been used to in school and every job I’ve had for the most part.  But during my travels and experience thus far in Zambia I’ve had some time to reflect on this.  In the current job-role I find myself in, which is mostly about taking the back seat in solidarity and not having any assigned tasks to complete, I can say that my time reflecting on productivity, especially as a westerner immersed in another culture, has shown me that allowing for things to happen to you, allowing the passage of time to find your groove, and not keeping busy for the sake of busyness or impressing others is the gateway to chilling out.  When I find myself in that mode of “get up, walk around, sit down, find something to do…” I try to check myself, slow down, and ask “what about kicking it?  What about not worrying? What about not making plans?  What about not keeping them?”.  Teach me to chill, Zambia.

The first time I felt that assuredness that I have nothing really that needs doing was in Cambodia. Life was slower there because everything takes time.  Structures in place make it so that work takes time, commuting takes time, meetings take time.  Similarly, everyone in Zambia must learn to accommodate the speed at which individuals have access to goods and services.  But in the west we have structures in place to make sure production and service is quick. We are so used to supply on demand, action, pressure and speed.  Because of our structures we have the luxury of speed.  Yet within that luxury we lose sight of slowing down and paying attention. We lose sight of the whole point. We want our coffee as quickly as possible from the over-worked barista so we can go have time for the rest of our day. But in that moment of rushed frustration we lose our opportunity to relax, be thankful for the coffee and, at worst, to practice our patience.  This isn’t to say that as westerners we are all blind to what’s important.  Most westerners I know prioritize their values and appreciate time spent with family and friends as paramount.  However, even when we’re chilling out, we’re still nagging ourselves.  Just a bit, right?  We’re kicking it with the fam or some homies but really we’re feeling guilty for not doing our homework, or not engaging in our new hobby of archery or we’re making a well-planned strategy of what to make for dinner.  If I’ve noticed anything about my time in Zambia so far, it’s that people work hard. Yes, they work very hard.  And they do the tasks they have to, to make life run smoothly. But their minds are not elsewhere, they know when it is time to rest and when it is time to work.  When it is time to plan and when it is time to just focus on their immediate surroundings.  And when something needs doing they just do it in a relaxed manner.  And eventually, when time permits, it’s done.  

As westerners though, we put the pressure of productivity on ourselves from a very young age.  We place great value in money-making, looking busy, investing monetarily in our future and finishing tasks before we allow ourselves to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, such as eating a nice meal with a good friend.  I remember sitting in a bar in Paris, long after finishing my lunch, wondering why the server wasn’t bringing me my bill or checking to see if I needed anything before leaving.  Why wasn’t he rushing me out so he could open the table for service? North American restaurants are anything but relaxing when as soon as your meal is done they are encouraging you to leave and making you feel alienated when you overstay their prescribed welcome.  I felt a nagging pressure to leave the bar when my super awesome, chilled out, female pal pointed out to me that we were supposed to relax after eating.  And, really, we had nowhere we needed to be. The chairs we were sitting in were for lounging, and there was a stool to prop our feet in front of each seat- a feature common in most caffes of Europe (because let’s face it, Europe isn’t “the west” I’m talking about here, if you’ve been there you’ll know the difference of attitudes I speak of).  Most cultures outside mainstream north America want you to be comfortable and content and to enjoy the food and company.  You don’t need to have luxury to kick back and enjoy.  Even some of the poorest countries in the world still know how to relax and take a load off, and from what I’ve seen, they are usually better at this.  

In my moments of slowing down, enjoying my surroundings and just sinking into really chilling out I like to tell myself that there’s not much to worry about in life, and that everything’s all good.  Zambians say “feel free” and I think that means to just be yourself, do as you please and remember to relax, because life is short and we are put here to grow and learn and appreciate.  

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The Traveler Within

As of yet, I haven’t had the inspiration to write about the travel aspect of my time so far in Zambia. This is mostly because I’ve been here in a living and working capacity.  The busyness and routine of my week-to-week in a new country is generally enough to make me feel like I’m engaging in a rich diversity of experiences.  However, just like living and working back home, I think it’s important to get out of town, mix up the routine and experience the wonders a country has to offer, not to mention contributing to the local economy through tourism.  As a foreign intern from a country with considerable wealth, it is problematic for me to flaunt that by running away each weekend to see parts of this country some of my most senior coworkers haven’t ever laid eyes on.  It only serves to create a divide from myself and my peers if I’m the only one able to get out of town that often and buy bus tickets, entry fees or restaurant food.  To level out the playing field a bit, many of my Zambian friends have experienced Mosi-oa-Tunya and a game drive many times, however, the reality is that most Zambians want to see these hallmarks of their country, yet many of them don’t get the opportunity.  That said, as a visitor to this country and a “baby intern” at the YWCA, my coworkers have made it clear that they want us to see these places.  They are, after all, part of a proud nation and host to a vastly breathtaking countryside. In this vein, it may be rude of me not to participate, at least modestly, as a tourist.  

As many a traveler would say, I believe there is exponential growth in the human spirit that takes place when one travels.  I feel like “myself” when on the road.  It is not as if I feel inhibited to be myself in my day-to-day in a general sense, yet, when I travel there are aspects of me that are forced out while interacting in a new environment, as well as aspects of me that are silenced while experiencing the awe of wonder.  Sometimes a traveler is humbled meeting new people, or seeing a natural wonder. Sometimes a traveler feels invincible after surviving an unlikely mishap.  Sometimes a traveler feels like the coolest kid at school because the rad people they’ve met make them feel that way.  The travelers’ life is made up of experiences that simultaneously breaks and strengthens them.  So far on this internship I’ve felt mostly humbled, as the role that I’m in is very much one of learning, and my day-to-day keeps me quiet and reflective, at least compared to how I am normally.  But having had the chance to get out of town twice now, I can say I’ve felt the presence of the traveler in me again.  One thing I didn’t count on for this internship experience was how little I would feel like myself sometimes.  Back home, being a barista in a hip caffe with a whole pack of crazy family and friends I had such a safety net of being a weirdo, being funny and being myself.  But here, it is sometimes even challenging to cross the street, reducing me to feeling as though I am a vulnerable child who has to learn how to do things by myself all over again.  There are aspects of the confident me that are considerably shadowed here.  Going to Mosi-oa-Tunya, otherwise known as the Victoria Falls, and Mfuwe National Park in South Luangwa was a good reminder for me that I am Aja, from the west coast.  An individual with a sense of humour and adventure.  Even though I was reminded of those aspects of myself I was still the humbled traveler. If you’ve seen the true size of a female lions’ paw or stood under the shower that is the mist of the Victoria Falls, you’ll know what I’m talking about.  

The Wonders of the South Luangwa Game Drive:  wild animals, there is something so innocent yet so disconcerting about them.  They are dangerous, they are beautiful, they are unpredictable if you don’t know their language, they are strange, they are cute, they are silly-looking, and they are very scary.  And very different in real life as oppose to on screen or in a photograph.  I saw a male and female lion, away from the pride on a mating getaway, lazing in the shades of some bushes.  Their matted fur was the colour of sun-burnt grass.  Their gaping eyes in gigantic heads, looked at us with the nonchalance of a housecat.  I saw herds of zebras, some of them with their young.  Every zebra has a different pattern of stripes, no two the same, like snowflakes, or a thumbprint.  Long-necked giraffes, graceful on their long limbs, batting long eyelashes.  The warthogs were always seen in family groups, 2 parents, 2 children.  But the elephants were my favourite.  Something about the elephants really struck me.  Like all wild animals they can be dangerous when provoked, but these gentle beasts have a sweetness I’ve never seen matched to any other creature.  They are big and slow but very graceful, and surprisingly quiet for something so large.  I like to think of them as the friendly giants of the animal world.  It was unreal seeing them grazing among the trees only feet from the steps of our cabin.  The lodges are scattered throughout the national park so the animals roam free even in the grounds.  You get driven to your cabin at night.  That’s when the leopards come out.  One was on our porch when we woke up.  The guide who came to collect us told us so.

The Wonders of the Victoria Falls: cascading, giant, breathtaking tonnes of rushing water.  In a word, unfathomable.  The waters of what is traditionally called Mosi-oa-Tunya, were the most powerful natural wonder I’ve ever seen.  I am still unable to grasp exactly how it is possible that nearly 625 million litres of water a minute are able to continuously fall.   Mosi-oa-Tunya means “the smoke that thunders”.  And that’s exactly what it does.  It’s loud and impressive.  The only other time I can remember being around something so loud was during a torrential storm in Cambodia.  The crack of thunder was just 2 seconds after the flash of lightening.  I was near enough to have been hit but was safely grounded on my porch with many tall things around me that were an easy target. I felt so small and insignificant.  Standing under the spray of the Falls was a similar experience.  The spray caused by the plunging waterfall was just like standing in one spot and having many buckets of water poured on me.  It was exhilarating and breathtaking.  By far, my favourite vantage point was just sitting on the rocks watching the whirling pools of The Boiling Pot.  I watched a bungee jumper on the bridge silently fall from their perch only to hang suspended in the air a few hundred metres above the riverbed. They seemed so small above the torrential waters.  I imagined, for just a second, what it would be like to be in that water.  I concluded certain death.  

I’ve been in Zambia for 3 months now, and during this time I’ve been missing that feeling of freedom I’ve felt while on the road.  It’s winter here, the days are cooler, the wind is blowing and I’m in a routine of work, so I have felt a far cry from being the beach bum I naturally am. Barefoot and free is not how I’ve been living here the last 3 months.  But I’ve felt that again.  Who you are on the road, stays with you forever.  And that’s the magic of travel.

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The Western Traveler, The Local Zambian

Throughout my time as a visitor in Zambia so far, I’ve never seen a local sitting on the ground outside an immigration office.  I’ve never seen a local wearing sweatpants and a ripped t-shirt to a meeting. I have never, for that matter, seen a local woman wear anything but the smartest fashions or a chetenge and a proper shirt.  Yet, there are people here who do the opposite of these things.  Enter: The Western Traveler.  Or worse, the westerner in a position of professionalism: The Volunteer.  

I noticed westerners exhibit the same behaviour in Cambodia when I volunteered teaching English for a few months in 2014.  It is a behavior that says “No one worth showing respect to is watching, therefore I can do whatever I want”.  Since that time, and with ever increasing work, travel and education experience both in Canada and abroad, I have given this behaviour much thought.  My observations here in Zambia have me continuously turning this issue in my mind.

And I ask the following to my fellow westerners:

Would you sit on the ground outside an immigration office and draw your next youth camp plan?  I’ve noticed that generally the only people sitting on the ground at an immigration office are the ones with handcuffs, being deported.  Would you go to a meeting without showering?  Maybe.  Would you go to a meeting without showering and wear ripped jeans, or the sweatpants you slept in?  You see my point now.  Where, in North America, or Europe is it acceptable to do these things?  And which Zambians are you looking at that are setting this example? Show me the local Zambian who behaves this way.  Show me the Zambian who presents themselves the same way we do when we are overseas.  Westerners the world over, I address thee.  Why do we do this?  After thinking on this periodically over the years and discussing with those I’m close to here, I highlight the following as possible reasons.  

One is that we think we have entered a place of lawlessness.  A place that has no clear rules, social norms or guidelines, therefore we do not have to adhere to any.  I observe, however, that there are guidelines and social norms.  Some of which greatly differ from our own and are harder to spot and more difficult to understand.  But like social norms and guidelines in our own cultures, just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they hold no weight when they are ignored.  There are laws and rules, and westerners aren’t exempt from following them.

Another reason is that we think we are here on a cultural exchange.  That we are here to teach and demonstrate more non-traditional, relaxed ways of living and being, so we might as well start by showing the locals how relaxed in dress and attitude we are.  Firstly, I think the tropics have a much clearer idea of “relax” than the Global North. And secondly, it is not a cultural exchange if you are the only one who knows you are having an exchange.  It would be a cultural exchange if your host family got to have a stint in your country and then you could both be learning. It is not an exchange, it’s just you being weird, and probably rude and them looking at you like you’re an idiot, and probably being offended.

The third reason, I believe, is that we can afford the luxury of looking like bums.  A better way to say this though, is that we think we can afford the luxury of looking like bums. But in my experience of talking with locals, people the world over don’t automatically respect us because we come from more affluent countries.  And their disappointment in us will grow if we continue visiting countries in what is supposed to be a professional capacity yet disrespect the integrity of our work and place as guests by behaving like bums.  

These assumptions are not in our favour.  Oddly enough, what we think of as a “bum” is basically the same all over the world. There may be differing social norms and table manners that translate as rude or polite from culture to culture.  Sometimes men may have the opportunity to disregard certain rules because of their station (cat calling for example is rude in most parts of the world yet there just may not be enough discussion to challenge it in certain places).  But when you act in a respectful way, most people, no matter their culture can at least tell of your intent, even if what you are doing is strange.  So what do you think our message to locals is when we visit, and worst of all volunteer or work, while looking like slobs and behaving in ways we never would at home?

Looking at this issue makes me ask the question I’ve asked so many times: as westerners, what are we doing here?  We come, we teach, we judge, we leave.  Though I recognize this is extremely pessimistic and it must be said I’ve met a few (and came here with) well-intentioned and respectful travelers and volunteers.  Like them, I am here because I have a passion for human rights and working and living with other cultures, but so what?  Even though I know the capacity and intent my cohort and I come here with, because of the ill-mannered ones who have come before, we appear as if we are all in on this together.  

Hence, we come, we teach, we judge, we leave.  

Though international development projects in Zambia have helped support human rights initiatives, I think one key idea is lacking for most westerners who live and work here: Zambians like it here.  It is their home, their languages are useful, their education system teaches of their own history, they are an independent nation and they live in a stunning country.  Amongst human rights issues and systemic poverty, home is home and whether we realize it or not, many people lead functional lives here that would suit us just fine if we gave it half a chance.  The other day, an American friend said to our Zambian friend, “Where’s the caffes yo? You guys need more places to hang out where volunteers and tourists can spend money.  Y’all need a caffe here.”  To which he replied “Or, you guys could just leave and let us keep kickin’ it.” This is nothing against her, having ideas to boost the economy is cool, but his response leveled the playing field completely.  We think we come here to teach and help grow better economies, but as my Zambian friend points out, on our journeys to “save Zambia” who is going to save us from Zambia?  I would re-frame this question to say who is going to save us from the type of people we allow ourselves to become in Zambia?  We must look to Zambians for guidance on this.    

In closing, I think it’s just best for us westerners to adhere to the following rule: If you wouldn’t do it at home don’t do it here.  And be okay with the constant fluidity of adhering to that rule while also adhering to my other favorite: when in Rome, do as the Romans do.  Participate.  Be apart. Respect local custom. And check yourself before you wreck yourself.    

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Shoes and sharing at The Shelter.

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Though I don't tend to watch it back home, watching #television in other countries is a great way to get to know the #culture. This image is from a daily program called #"Today'sWoman" which features local women who are making a difference in their community and who hold a place of respect. This Early Childhood Educator says she draws inspiration from her late father who once said to her "we don't come [to earth] to accumulate space, we come to make a difference". This is local television, so I chose to leave her name out as I can't ask her permission, however I think her words are worth sharing with the wider community. Some food for thought: what do foreigners think of us when they watch Canadian television?

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Nonde and I chillin out at the youth camp after our presentation on Gender-Based Violence. #youthempowerment #gbv #Zambia

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Ethical Questions in Volunteering

I have had ethics on my mind lately.  As a student of Child of Youth Care I am just beginning to understand ethics in the broader context.  I am not yet a working professional in my field so have not had opportunity to utilize ethics in practice in a Child and Youth Care setting. I am not even, at this time, a qualified professional in Child and Youth Care.  However, at the YWCA in Chipata I find myself in the job role of “Crisis Support Worker”.  Though I have experience with trauma through what I have endured on my own, ethically speaking, this does not put me in a position to be utilized as a professional helper, in fact, the helping profession in Canada discourages those who have had severe trauma from helping others, as there may be more risk for both the client and the practitioner.  In this placement, I will nevertheless be working closely with young people who have experienced recent traumas.  This, is my first dilemma in ethics of volunteering: how is it ethical to be a Crisis Support Worker when I am not yet qualified to do this job in Canada?

I have looked at this issue for some time now and keep arriving back at the conclusion that I am not here in an unethical capacity, however, the uncertainty of that conclusion begs for rumination and ultimately means there is no easy answer.  This is why it’s a dilemma.  On the one hand, it is not as if I am a surgeon-in-training who is performing advanced surgeries as a volunteer for NGO’s (various people in the world expat community have confirmed this detail to me).  In fact, aside from “being here” I am not fulfilling a role in a professional helping capacity at all.  All I have done so far at work is attempt to make connections with people and to try to fit in.  Sometimes I play music off my phone and dance around the office, something which is well received in Africa.  It’s clear to myself and VIDEA (the organization who sent me here), that I am here in a “learning” capacity and not required to professionally counsel clients, however, this does not necessarily translate the same to local staff that I work with or meet on the street.  They see my whiteness and assume I am here to teach about or introduce more sustainable structures; to change programs; or to produce funding out of thin air.  This isn’t because they don’t know how to or aren’t already utilizing their skills to move their organizations forward in a context that works for them.  It is because they are used to the power dynamic of foreign aid.  It is sometimes challenging to point out that I am in fact the one who needs assistance learning.  That it would be unethical for me to attempt counselling vulnerable citizens in a second language when I don’t have the correct certification.

This experience will inevitably help me with my ability to be of optimum use for young people and families when I do in fact become professional back in Canada.  And this, in turn, begs me to look at the second ethical dilemma I have: how is it ethical for me to engage in a program that ultimately benefits me more than the people I am here to serve and learn from?  I have looked at this issue in many circumstances through many experiences. Most notably, my place in the Indigenous Studies Program as a non-Native person, and my place volunteering as an ESL teacher in Cambodia.  In these placements I often asked myself “who is benefiting from me being here?  Is my being here more of a detriment and further perpetuating unequal power dynamics?”.  It is not just me who asks these questions. Others, of all varying identities, ask me as well. And they should, it’s a good question.  No answer satisfies everyone.  But my willingness to be here and continue learning has made me reach at least one conclusion: what is the use in not being here?  Is it more useful to self-deprecate and say that “I don’t belong here”?  Is it useful to begin a learning journey and then stop just because I feel out of place, or am unsure what the outcome will be? Is it useful to leave this type of work because I feel challenged by some people while being encouraged by others (I refer to people of all identities here, no one person speaks for their entire race or culture)?  Like I said at the beginning of this blog, I am not here to develop the world, I am here to be part of the change to the way development is done.  That can’t happen if I’d rather not touch “change” with a 10-foot pole. 

The more positive relations are created and more importantly, maintained, the more we will all eventually benefit. However, the issue still stands when volunteering anywhere or with any people dealing with issues of poverty or oppression. This is what makes these questions so challenging.  They are challenging because there is no easy answer.  They are challenging because each question leads to more questions and fewer answers, and each answer cannot satisfy everyone.