Rainy Season
Rainy season’s finally in full swing here, which means we fall asleep to rain, wake up to rain, and dodge thunderstorms throughout the day, and we walk around feeling damp much of the time. For those of you suffering winter in the Midwest, this probably sounds okay, and it’s true that Ben and I enjoy it. However, we don’t have to live with it all the time for several months the way our friends here do; we have a roof over our heads and a dry place to sleep while many, many others don’t. We aren’t trying to do business or build things or get places on crummy, washed-out roads, so rainy season doesn’t particularly interfere with our lives or work. Storms knock out the power for hours on end, but lucky us, we have a fridge protector. For most people, rainy season is just a pain in the butt. It’s difficult to get stuff accomplished. It’s also the season when malaria infections skyrocket–mosquitos thrive in warm, wet weather and breed in standing water–so everything from worker productivity to school attendance suffers because people get really sick, often. (Just since we’ve been here one of my dear friends, Patricia, was wiped out for a few days with malaria. Luckily, after a trip to the doctor and some drugs, she’s pretty much recovered.) On the plus side, flowers are in bloom, people’s gardens and farms are producing (though too much rain can ruin that too), and our rural neighborhood looks like a lush green paradise. You can understand why rainy season is one of those things my father would call a “blessed burden.”
Lifesong
Ben and I spent last Thursday through Saturday at Lifesong School in Kitwe. Lifesong’s a school for orphaned and vulnerable children; it’s run by acquaintances of ours, members of the Gridley AC church. The last time I was at Lifesong, three years ago, my friend Dru was the administrative assistant, and the school had about 175 kids from preschool through grade 5, I believe. It was a wonderful little school even then, but since 2009, it has expanded to serve about 250 children in seven grades, added new classrooms, brought on new administrative staff (the kids miss you, Dru!), and acquired more land on which they’ve started a strawberry farm. Ben’s friend from college, Luke Gudeman, is currently in charge of the farm and has done an amazing job developing the land, learning the business, experimenting with crops, and trying to produce an income that will help Lifesong School become self-sustaining. Turns out strawberries could be highly profitable as more people in Zambia have increased disposable income to buy “luxury” foods like that.
That said, each day Ben worked with Luke and his cousins Garrison and Justin (two other college buddies) at the farm, laying block and helping with trusses for a new strawberry-processing building, and generally getting his hands dirty. I picked up where I left off three years ago and did some more simple painting projects: four 8-ft-tall pillars (for the four Pillars of Character the kids are learning) in the foyer, music notes and drama masks in the music room, and ABCs/123s/shapes in the preschool classroom. When we weren’t working, we were hanging out with the Lifesong kids, most of them middle-school boys that Luke mentors. They sat and watched me work for hours, which was entertaining (they have some mad dance moves) and exhausting (so many questions and so much energy!) at once. All things considered, we had a blast with the guys and with the Lifesong boys. We’re hoping to visit at least one more time before we go home.
Cedric School
On Monday Ben went over to Rivendale (where Kafakumba’s 20-plus fish ponds are located and run by our friend Nate Enright and his fiancee Robin) to watch/help with“fry collection”: workers open the mouths of mama fish to check for eggs, then collect the eggs and put them in the hatchery. By all his accounts, it was a highly entertaining event.
I, on the other hand, went with my friends Matthew and Allison (who are coincidentally from New Zealand) to Limapela Cedric School, which they help facilitate. There I started painting another small mural in the preschool class: bright little stick kids riding cartoon animals, building with basic shapes, and interacting with numbers. While I worked, I listened to about 25 children between the ages of 3 and 5 do their “lessons,” which mostly consist of singing along with their teacher and memorizing basic concepts in English by hollering at the top of their lungs: “Thees ees my ARM! Thees ess MY NOOOOOSE! NUMBAH ONE!” It was kind of a hoot, kind of overwhelming.
Ben came to help me paint today—he did a good job!—and after working amidst the shouting again, we both had ripping headaches, but the mural is well on its way. Quite frankly, I think it’s looking delightful, I’m having a great time with it, and the students seem to love it. After class on Monday, about ten little kids lined up chairs and sat quietly behind me, just watching. I felt a bit like Bob Ross, without the white fro…
Victoria Falls
On Friday morning Ben, Luke, Garrison, and Justin are roadtripping the 12ish hours to Livingstone, Zambia to visit Victoria Falls for a few days. They’re taking their beat-up van, which only has one seat beside the driver’s; they’re throwing a mattress down in the back for the other riders. I’m staying behind so they can have some quality guy-time. They’ll be back on Monday night. Now, I don’t consider myself an overprotective person, and these are four highly-capable, sturdy midwestern farm boys. I trust them to get there safely…at least I’m trying to. : ) Still, if you’re a praying person I’d sure appreciate some prayer for the guys, for traveling mercies—and for fun.
Murder
The past several days have been full of wonderful stuff but also, I’m sad to report, full of tragedy: the grandmother of one of Rivendale’s employees was brutally murdered last week—allegedly for witchcraft—in Fisenge, a nearby village. She was beaten and then burned, and her husband was severely injured in the attack. Reports indicate that about 3,000 villagers were involved.
All my facts are second and third-hand because I wasn’t there. I do know that my friends have known and worked with folks in Fisenge for many years; most of the people in that village would call themselves Christians. There’s a decent chance I’m even acquainted with some in the mob, given that I spent a couple of afternoons a week in Fisenge during my last visit. So everyone here has been kind of reeling from the murder. Its implications are deeply troubling and confusing. I’m not sure I could sort it out if I tried. But here are two things I was reminded of this week:
First, that it wasn’t so long ago Americans were burning “witches,” mostly women, largely on hearsay and hunches and iffy accusations. Second, that all of us, whether we like to admit or not, walk around bearing ancient instincts. A friend put it this way: he said a village mob pounds an old woman with rocks for the same reasons he himself would pull the trigger on anyone who broke into his home and threatened his fiance. It’s the same old complicated, deep-seated fears and mistrust, playing out in different scenarios. However old and instinctive, those fears ultimately keep us from kinship and community. When we fear each other, we can’t live together.
We pray, then, that someday we learn to live together.
