| Page Views: 1,838 Last Visit to Zambia: June, 2005 | Welcome to Zambia- The Real Africa by genki44 - last update: Jul 28, 2005 |
A Day in the Life of a Volunteer in Zambia -Kelly Tobin
I wake to the startling cry of a rooster but quickly fall back asleep only to be roused moments later by Stephanie. She asks if I will be doing Yoga this morning, I nod, un-tucking the mosquito net from my sleeping bag and tiptoe over Nikki. Pushing open the door from our small, four-room Habitat house (currently sleeping eleven), I am rewarded by one of the many unforgettable sights of the trip; the perfect, crimson Zambian sun slung low in the Eastern sky. Stephanie and I quickly attract a few children who giggle and mimic our solar salutations. The remaining volunteers exit the house in a steady flow, each beginning their own morning rituals.
Tim props up the mirror on the window's sill and Crosley perches on the front stoop brushing her teeth. Rebecca informs us breakfast is ready and several of us cut short our actions and head for the food. No one wants to be last to get to the peanut butter jar, resources are scarce: one knife, one spoon, one container of peanut butter and 11 hungry diners. Britney offers me the jar; I am the last and must scrape the bottom and sides to make a respectable sandwich. The morning fare elicits thoughts of home although the lush New England foliage is replaced with the harsh African moonscape.
We are in Zambia to build brick houses; but first we must make the bricks. After the quick breakfast of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and hard boiled eggs we head over to the meeting house where we gather each morning to discuss the day's activities. Some of the village women begin to sing in their native Bemba and our group attempts to pick up the chorus; we are now fed, smiling, and motivated. On the dusty road to the worksite we pass recently completed Habitat Houses and their occupants outside performing the morning's chores; some chop vegetables while others wash clothes or dishes in large buckets. Still others break large rocks into smaller rocks (using only hand tools) to obtain money needed to cover their mortgage; I never discovered who purchased the pebbles or what purpose they served.
At the worksite we split-up and look for the tools, after almost giving up the search a woman emerges from her home with a few hoes and shovels. I grab a hoe and begin attacking a massive anthill to harvest the sand for brick-making. With methodic chops, small clumps of earth flow down to the ground where others shovel it into wheelbarrows and mix it with well-water and cement to produce the bricks. Ester, a Zambian woman probably 60 years old, takes my hoe and shows me how to maximize my effort by taking off larger clumps with each swing. She hands the tool back to me and nods approvingly at my new technique.
Throughout the day we take short breaks and attempt conversations with the locals; given their very limited English and our nonexistent Bemba, the interactions produce many funny moments. The Zambians typically break into song during these breaks and again, we attempt to carry the chorus along with them. The hard work is quickly forgotten during these intermissions, the cultural exchange providing the basis of an inner bond; a different kind of cement perhaps building something more precious within each of us. I realize with a misty eye, that this experience is one which I will carry for all my days. |
|  | Around mid-day we travel back to the small house next to ours where the "kitchen ladies" have prepared a meal of the local staple. The nshima, a mixture of ground corn and boiling water steams in the large bowl beside a bowl of vegetable soup to dip the nshima in, along with a pot containing freshly killed, roasted chicken. Over lunch I tell the group about a conversation I had with Driss, a Zambian widow with a pretty good command of English. She told me that only a quarter of the women in the village live with their husbands; most have succumbed to one of the many diseases prevalent in this part of the world. Nearly every household in the village has taken in orphans. Our group has frequent collections to add to our medical fund which we leave behind for the community, along with a small supply of badly needed medicine; more "collections" are undertaken to sponsor students' education and other causes.
Returning to the worksite the afternoon sun is brutal, not a cloud interrupts the hazy expanse of Zambian sky and armed with sunblock and bottled water we return to our posts. I join a group shoveling cement into the brick machine and Denise pulls the handles down to mold the brick and Bridgette removes it and passes it to another worker who lines the bricks up to dry. At about 4 P.M. we conclude our workday and move back along the dirt road to our house, accompanied by a small cluster of children anxious to sing and play "duck, duck, goose"; a game I taught them the previous day.
There is something magical about the children. As we hold hands and run about playing games I realize this is the happiest I have been during this trip, and I also wonder if this is the happiest the children have been. For under seemingly impossible conditions they face on a daily basis, it astonishes me that they can be so cheerful. Some are orphans; others may have ill parents, or siblings, or can’t afford to go to school, etc… I think of the children back home, with long Christmas wish lists and elaborate birthday parties. The children of Zambia have no joyous gift begetting holidays, or no toys for that matter, yet they seem to be the happiest children in the world right there in front of our house playing barefoot in the dirt with some of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen.
At dinner we discuss our experiences of the day. Each of us is overwhelmed and finds it difficult to absorb and comprehend all of what we are witnessing. We have so many questions, but no chance to ask them. But the problem is the questions are not exactly appropriate. How can you ask a woman who is an unemployed widow how she manages to care for her own children and manages to take in orphans as well? Such as one woman, recently widowed due to HIV/AIDS with a newborn and three other children- how does she continue to provide for her family? To compound the situation, some widow’s in-laws seize the family’s belongings and leave them with nothing. All the questions in our minds lead to the greater question- what can we do? But how can we begin to answer this question, if we can’t comprehend the situation? Faced with some of the biggest problems anyone would ever have to deal with, the adults, like the children, inspire and amaze me as they greet us enthusiastically each day while it seems as if the world is crashing down around them. They continuously thank us, communicating the illusion that we have solved their problems just by our presence. As if all they needed was our visit. |
| | Next to our house there is a large fire around which guards sit nightly and keep watch. After dinner we go and sit by the crackling fire and are joined by a large portion of the community. Sitting on a log by the fire, having a conversation with a few teenage girls, I notice about 5 younger girls vying for the chance to hold my hand sitting behind and in front of us on the dirt ground. Nearby Bridgette and Denise sing songs with a large group of girls. “Our God is an Awesome God” is repeated many times each night, but seeing the affectionate way the children look at Denise and Bridgette as they attempt to sing along with them in English, I don’t tire from hearing it. As it gets late, smaller children reluctantly head home under mother’s orders, and still later, teenage boys and girls that have to get up early for school also retire until we are left with the guards. Finally, we leave them as we too must rise early to begin another work day. Denise leaves her guitar behind for the guards to play, and ultimately, she leaves it behind as we leave Zambia, for the community to continue to sing beautiful songs of hope and faith.
I have become convinced not to underestimate the importance of our trip, for the people in Nkwazi and for us, as visitors. I have come to respect that to this great, resilient and inspirational community we brought a lot more than a few weeks of gratis labor and resources— we brought something more important that can’t be measured—the confirmation of common humanity from across the world. And we also bore witness that around the globe people will wholeheartedly welcome you into their homes to share their communities and cultures, and much more.
Brick by brick, day by day, we formed lasting friendships which we’ll continue long after we’ve returned to our, comparatively, over-industrialized nations. We will send letters or packages, including books to the library Steph and Jenna have plans to create. Some of us may lead a future Habitat trip back to Nkwazi. Although none of us is looking forward to leaving this amazing place that has moved each of us so deeply—we can rest assured that when we are ready and able to return, we will be warmly welcomed back.
See the Zambia album on my homepage for pictures.
Also, visit this link for more photos and testimonies from other volunteers on my team!
http://www.ndaka.masindieducation.org |
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hindu1936 Wed Sep 20, 2006 15:10 UTC
111 metes?! frightening. so how much does it cost to lose 10 years of your life? Thanks | bijo69 Wed Jul 13, 2005 01:38 UTC
Looking forward to see some pics! |
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