You might be as surprised as I was when I realized that I have just one week left in the village. The three months here have passed very quickly and while I look forward to going home and seeing friends and family, I have had an incredibly positive experience working with our Zambian colleagues to develop our programs.
Dan, the Director of Impact Network, was out here with his friend and Impact Network fundraiser, Mike, for about a week. We spent some of that time planning for a new project in Katete, the nearest town to the village, in which Impact will be starting an Internet café and solar products store with the potential of it providing proceeds to the schools. You can find more information about Impact Network’s scaling up process by visiting: http://impactnetwork.org/model/scaling/
The students are now finished with the term and are on break for the month of April. This coming term, the schools will begin teaching the grade 2 iSchool curriculum in addition to the grade 1 curriculum. As I mentioned in my first post, all of the iSchool curricula is created by Zambian teachers and is approved by the Zambian Ministry of Education. In addition, one of our schools will be launching a new trial project in which students will be using tablets to complete group activities, therefore providing the opportunity for every student to gain technology skills. We had the chance to try out the tablets with some of the students, teachers, and one of our teacher supervisors and while there are a few challenges, we received feedback that all of the participants very much enjoyed using the tablets and we noted that teachers, students, and the supervisor alike learned how to use the tablets very quickly.
In the spirit of beginnings and endings I thought I would share some of my personal journal entry that I wrote on the flight to Lusaka back in January. I had only decided for certain about two weeks prior to leaving New York that I would be coming to Zambia and as my friends and family can attest, it was a chaotic flurry of a fortnight.
On January 21st not long after my flight departed from JFK, I wrote "I woke up at 5:30am today to the sound of the snow plow scraping the road outside of my bedroom window. After and month and a half of winter with no snow, it shouldn't surprise me that the first blizzard of the year hit New York the day I was flying to Zambia.*
*It wasn’t until I reached Johannesburg that I realized thanks to the snow in New York which delayed my flight nearly 2 hours, I would have just 20 minutes to sprint through the Jo-burg Tembo Airport to board my flight to Lusaka, Zambia. Needless to say, this was beyond stressful, and I felt badly for the man sitting next to the sweaty American on my next flight.
“Now I am on my flight with a full row to myself and 14 hours in the air until Johannesburg. I was nervous about this trip until yesterday, but from the moment when the opportunity arose to work in Zambia for three months, I tried to think in terms of 'WWHD,' or 'What Would Hemmingway Do?'” (I occasionally turn to WWHD to encourage my sense of adventure and misogyny—only kidding about the latter.)
12-13 hours later as the sun was rising and I could see the coast of Namibia and miles of sand dunes through the desert rising up below us—the first land below the airplane since leaving New York—I wrote, “I’m not sure what to expect. I have a good feeling though that three months from now, full of new experiences (can I ride a motorcycle? Do I speak Chichewa?), I will look back at my nervous curiosity today as naïve.”
I the asked my future self somewhat snarkily, “Are you going to Teachers College in the Fall? If not, sorry for bringing it up. Good luck with the job search.”
In response to the me of the past writing on January 21st, yes, I can technically ride a motorcycle (but if I actually met me from 3 months ago, I would not be surprised to learn that I have not become exactly would anyone would call a “pro”), yes I learned some Chichewa, but difuna punizera Chichewa (sp?) meaning “I need to learn Chichewa” and it’s going pangono pangono, “slowly slowly.” Yes I am going to Teachers College in the Fall and this experience has been made even more fulfilling knowing that I will be able to continue my work with the team I’ve been fortunate to work with while here in Zambia as Operations Manager when I return to New York so no, I will not be continuing the job search.
With only one week left, It is with mixed emotions that I say goodbye to Joel Village. Sounds that were once strange to me, the children banging on the wall outside my room at 6am yelling about the “mzungu,” the rain beating down on the corrugated metal roof at night, the nyau drums playing until the early morning hours, and even the disgruntled mooing of cows through the day, have all become comforting sounds. The strong smells of food cooking, garbage burning, farm smells like cow dung and fresh maize, and the earthy smell of this combination that drifts through the air on the breeze, have all become natural if not soothing smells. I will miss providing regular entertainment to the women of the village at the bore hole simply by attempting to speak Chewa to say “Mwauka bwanji?” (how are you this morning?) as I collect water only to hear the response of their raucous giggles which I can’t help but giggle in response to either.
Before leaving New York city to come to Joel Village in Eastern Province, Zambia, I had a faint concept of this place in my imagination. I knew for certain that this place was rural and so I expected the thatched-roof mud huts I have seen before in different African countries. I knew the school where I would be staying was situated in hills. I had been told about my colleagues and the interactions I might have with the people in Joel village and neighboring villages. Like coloring in a sketch of an image, it was not until I arrived here in January that I could physically see Joel village. It was not until weeks later that I began to understand the rhythm of life and the pulse of the day’s routine. I have also come to realize that this place, like hundreds of thousands of other villages, cannot be reduced to the jargon used to describe it in textbooks, research, or even my own blog. It cannot be labeled with the words, “poverty,” “AIDS,” “development,” or “traditional” because these words do not define the people. They are, as they would be in The United States, part of life, perhaps, but not all of it. The people I have met do not define themselves by any of these single words and even the short amount of time I have spent here has helped me to recognize the dangers of these vague, all-encompassing terms.
It has been fun and challenging to answer Zambian friends and acquaintances questions about the U.S. and discuss the economic challenges faced in my own country that many people here may not have been aware of. From the housing crisis and poverty to job shortages, and from systemic racism to the education system, I have had the pleasure of partaking in difficult conversations that have the potential to bring greater mutual understanding of larger global issues.
I feel fortunate to have had this experience and look forward to sharing stories (and way too many pictures—look out!) with friends and family at home. And hey Readers, you should feel free to reach out and ask further questions any time.
Zikomo powelenga. Tiza onana. “Thanks for reading. See you soon.”
